Dutch
Bored Spearman of the Wind
- Location
- CET
I am always to blame.In the meantime, have a sneak preview of the glorious fun to come.
*Sad Dutch noises*
A Restoration of Order and Peace - INDEFINITE HIATUS
- Thread starter Ojou-Sama
- Start date
- Sci-Fi
Ojou-Sama
[Verified GFL enjoyer]
- Location
- A variety of states and nations
There there, they didn't mean anything with it, I am sure. Honestly, I am pretty sure that the Tsundere Dice Goddesses liked the memes and gifted a couple of high rolls given the...rather...strange rolls. Some nat 100's, some high rolls above the 80, and then everything in between. Oh, and a nat 1 because of reasons/Dice Tsun.
At this point, I will not be surprised if next turn everything goes down the drain only for the turn after that to give us nat 100s.
Axslashel
I am a pessimist not a realist.
- Location
- Land of the Midnight Sun
Now now. You tried your best at Yavin IV. Don't be sad Jon "Dutch" Vander.
Ojou-Sama
[Verified GFL enjoyer]
- Location
- A variety of states and nations
Cough. I feel that I can go out and say that no, this nat 1 in particular did not involve Kaine. It was a different faction, one which we have somewhat purged lately, and whom may find us a tempting target in the near future. And by somewhat purged, I mean, ehrm...Permanently (for now) removed from the equation.
Also, fun thing about researching droids and AI in Star Wars, I keep getting more and more ideas to explore in the quest as we move into Phase Two of the Galactic Civil War! Lyco's role keeps getting expanded as a consequence though, same with the Neural Core...
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Let the Gacha Game nerd be a Gacha nerd, I know what the boys really want to see.
Axslashel
I am a pessimist not a realist.
- Location
- Land of the Midnight Sun
So I found something on the internet that might be of interest. I do not agree with all the choices and captions but the idea is really funny.
It does make me wonder where Daala is and what Lumiya is doing.
It does make me wonder where Daala is and what Lumiya is doing.
Last edited:
Noroboro
Consistency is key and I’m consistently tired :)
- Location
- Canada
Oh no... Does this nat 1 mean we can't talk with them for a little bit?
Ojou-Sama
[Verified GFL enjoyer]
- Location
- A variety of states and nations
Talking is going to be a bit difficult, yes, especially since you guys shot the ones that could get the Oversector in contact with them during the last turn. It did not have an influence on the roll, but, well...
Eh, there are always second chances next turn - not for our executed ringleaders of course, but for us? Sure!
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
... oh now you done distracted me. Now you got me acting up.So I found something on the internet that might be of interest. I do not agree with all the choices and captions but the idea is really funny.
It does make me wonder where Daala is and what Lumiya is doing.
Time to round up some goats.
...The nat one was on contacting the new republic wasn't it. IS THAT OPTION CURSED OR SOMETHING?!?!Talking is going to be a bit difficult, yes, especially since you guys shot the ones that could get the Oversector in contact with them during the last turn. It did not have an influence on the roll, but, well...
Eh, there are always second chances next turn - not for our executed ringleaders of course, but for us? Sure!
With our dice probably the rolls are pretty out there. As we massively succeed on some pretty important our impossible roll but something basic like contacting the new republic fails sometimes multiple times.
Fellow citizen these New Republic traitors have died as they should against the shining Glory of the New Order. Why the Commissariat of Internal Affairs have hunted down these traitors and terrorists to the ends of the oversector when even the highest echelons of this Oversector government was infiltrated now the cogs of the Empire at least in Mordshine is smoothly flowing with approval from the Moff and Regentess.
Dutch
Bored Spearman of the Wind
- Location
- CET
For clarity's sake, these are our unknown rolls at the moment, people.
[ ] 12th Fleet, Kaine's Hand, force integration.
[ ] Meram, Nijune, Sprizen... are we alone out here? (Multiple rolls)
[ ] It's not headhunting, it's adaptive recruitment!
[ ] Tracing the Flimsi-trail
[] Coming Clean
Fleetwide tactical AI and Upgraded DT series battledroids replacing Stormtroopers when?
Oh. And can't forget about the economical side of things either.
Last edited:
The First Move - Results (Part Two of Two)
Ojou-Sama
[Verified GFL enjoyer]
- Location
- A variety of states and nations
Co-written with @Always Late and @Habstab.
Music used in the writing process:
MICA Team/Sunburst's Girls Frontline BGM
(Shattered CONNEXION, Rainfall, What Am I Fighting For, MADE IN HEAVEN, various BGM)
Sabaton's new album, The War To End All Wars
(Race to the Sea, Stormtroopers, Lady of the Dark, The Unkillable Soldier)
Command and Conquer Red Alert 2 and 3
(Various BGM)
From the outside - and at only a cursory glance - the Imperial cause and the Galactic Empire as a whole, even after the death of the Emperor, remained intact in the face of the uprisings in the Outer Rim and the rapid gains of the New Republic: Together with what was claimed to be a quick and effective retreat that ensured that units loyal to the central government remained intact, while disloyal fleets, armies and commands saw themselves mauled as the nascent New Republic rose from the crucible of the Battle of Endor. Amateur analysts were quick to conclude that the Galactic Empire - though heavily wounded - was still very much capable of retaking lost ground.
Unfortunately, that could not be further from the truth. Harried by partisans and raids, forced back by the tactical genius of Admiral Ackbar and the skills of Rogue Squadron, facing opposition on hundreds of worlds and sabotage on thousands more, the Imperial Outer Rim Withdrawal quickly turned into a total rout, while the fate of those left behind by panicking Navy forces would be grim indeed.
[...]
The second phase of the Galactic Civil War was exceptionally vicious, perhaps as a result of the knowledge that no relief would be forthcoming. In the Second Outer Rim Sieges, neither faction declared any quarter to be given: New Republic armies killed those suspected of being Imperial sympathizers, while the Imperials slaughtered anyone accused of being New Republic partisans - entire continents, caught in the crossfire, would be shattered in the aftermath. Once the beacons of civility in the Outer Rim, capital cities were turned into blackened craters of their former glory, with no regard to civilian losses or the environment...
From "The Galactic Civil War - A Retrospective Look"
[X] A rapid expansion of army weapons production
"First test: Standard E-10 blaster with minor modifications!" The testing soldier, a Corporal, picked up the weapon, stood in front of a large trough, and then immersed the blaster in the water that was in it. After pulling the blaster out, he stood on the firing step and waited for the range officer. "You may fire when ready. Thirty shots." The blaster spat a baleful red bolt at the target downrange once, twice, thrice... and then nothing, the delicate internals already failing. After several pulls of the trigger and checking the charge pack, the soldier turned around and returned to the loading table, shaking his head.
"Failure to fire! Most probable cause is the delicate internals."
"The test is incomplete, then. Second test: E-11, mk.II!" The Corporal grabbed the E-11, the signature arm of the Stormtroopers and the Imperial Army, and inspected it for a moment before walking over to the large trough with water, quickly dunking it underneath as the Army officer in charge of the tests kept a detailed log on his holoslate. Marching over to the firing pit, the officer once more took up position - a new target quickly popped up, and the Corporal took aim. "You may fire when ready, Corporal. Thirty shots, centre-mass." Pulling the trigger, the weapon fired once, twice, and thrice, before the weapon jammed: Checking the charge pack - and giving the weapon a knock - the Corporal nodded again, before resuming fire. Twenty-seven shots went downrange, but this was only part one of the tests.
This time the soldier walked the weapon over to a table filled with sand and dirt, where he buried the weapon and shook it around under the rough, coarse material to make sure it got everywhere. Upon receiving the all-clear signal on the firing step, the weapon refused to fire even once, the internals completely wrecked thanks to a combination of water, sand and dirt. "Failure to fire! The most probable cause is the water and sand blocking the power cell."
"Right then, test incomplete. Next!"
"Third Test: Sergeant Symion's Rifle, Model E-10A1!" Now a third weapon was taken to the loading desk. A Tibanna Gas cartridge was slid into the rear of the weapon before the soldier snapped it shut, then slammed a power pack into the blaster's grip. The onboard diagnostic system gave a soft two-tone beep to signal both had been successfully attached. The soldier dunked the blaster in the water trough as the inspecting officer continued to take notes. The first brilliant green bolt smashed just above the bullseye, then two more followed. After thirty shots had been made, all on target, the desert replication was much the same. Despite grinding the weapon into the grit, burying it, thirty emerald shots went downrange on target.
Now it was time for the harshest test: Mud. The soldier crossed the blaster over his chest and began to crawl through a mud pit. All the way to the end of the range, then back again, the standard trench-crossing exercise used by the Militia, the Army, and the Stormtrooper Corps. By the time they stood back on the firing step, the corporal was barely distinguishable from the blaster rifle. The testers couldn't help but feel some anxiety, as most blasters weren't subjected to this much abuse. But with only a second's hesitation, the trigger was pulled... and the weapon fired. The first shot went directly into the bullseye. The second and third were just marginally off target. After taking a brief moment to click over a dial on the side, the soldier re-sighted the gun and held the trigger down. The stream of fully automatic bolts roared downrange. Even with decreased accuracy, the shots that hit weren't too far removed from the first tight trio.
"Test complete!"
As the officers conversed amongst themselves about the features and weaknesses of the weapons displayed in the tests, Amret Engell nodded to herself before leaving the firing range.
With the E-10A1 based on the old frame of the E-10 blaster rifle, the early replacement for the DC-15 wielded by the Republic's legendary Clone Trooper, production was quick to spool up and reach acceptable levels. Thousands of rifles were produced daily within converted blaster factories which, until only recently, had been producing longblasters and civilian single-shot rifles. This rapid expansion in production granted the Morshdine Imperial Militia the capability to arm her soldiers with reliable weaponry but at the cost of dozens of corners being cut and a ruthless disregard for life in the process.
- The Morshdine Militia has now achieved a slight armament surplus of semi-modern weaponry.
- The Militia debuff has been reduced to -5 due to the recent production run of weapons.
- The E-10A1 carbine, now in mass production, has surprised the various Imperial warlords due to its reliability and ease of manufacture. A crash-modernisation programme has already upgraded some of the earlier-issued E-10 rifles.
- Demand is currently being met, with a slight surplus to absorb losses or accommodate small expansion.
[X] Ordering escorts
Being laid down in increasingly larger amounts and with rapidly growing expertise, the Morshdine shipyards have proven their efficiency in building escorts time and time again. From the humble Tartan-class patrol cruiser to the Arquitens-class Light Cruiser, the men, women and droids working on the ships have completely exceeded expectations: Shifts proceed without issue, there are no records of sabotage, and as the first five patrol cruisers enter service, their captains have little to complain about.
Construction still proceeds apace on the four Arquitens-class Light Cruisers, though the Javelin and the Icarus - the first and third ships in the current construction cycle - seem to have some sort of error in the main fire control systems: It should be solved by the time both are finished and enter service.
- The Tartan-class Patrol Cruisers Spiteful, Epiphany, Vision, Avalanche and Shielder enter service.
- The Arquitens-class Light Cruisers Javelin, Jubilant, Icarus, and Impulsive require one more turn to be finished. Javelin and Icarus seem to be experiencing minor errors in the main fire control systems - this will be fixed before their completion.
The Imperial Military Monthly Report
As the fifth year of the campaign against enemies of the Galactic Empire comes to an end, and the sixth year of conflict against traitors, pirates and criminals that threaten to plunge the galaxy into anarchy begins, the Imperial Military is honoured to once more bestow awards on units of the Imperial Army, vessels of the Imperial Navy, and to recognize the efforts of the civilian populace in aid of the Imperial Military. As part of this review, the status of the frontlines will also be reported...
[...]
185th Imperial Army Infantry Division 'Lightning' - Unit-wide Imperial Medal of Valour
For bravery in the face of abject adversity against New Republic forces on Dolla as part of High General Ghuiklov's 12th Operational Group, all members of the 185th Imperial Army Infantry Division present at the Battle of Dolla are awarded the Imperial Medal of Valour. The Division bravely defended against strong and numerous New Republic assaults on their positions, and only retreated after Imperial citizens and war materiel was evacuated from the sector at great cost to their own limb and life, moving not a step back from their sectors until the last civilian transports were away...
[...]
High General Terrak Sodara - The Imperial Cross of Honour First Class in Gold
As in the Galactic South fighting between units of the Imperial Army intensifies, High General Terrak Sodara has at great risk to his own life commanded the defence of Christophsis from the front lines, earning the admiration of soldier and civilian alike: Halting the advance of the powerful New Republic 89th Mobile Group, High General Sodara and his forces bravely defended the planet until the Imperial Navy could relieve the planet. Despite suffering heavy casualties, the 89th Mobile Group continues to try and advance despite depleting their manpower and materiel on well-prepared and well-trained Imperial soldiers of the 104th Operational Group. High General Sodara has as such been awarded the Imperial Cross of Honour, First Class, in Gold...
[...]
It can be confirmed that after weeks of fighting, and only after the 829th Army ran out of all remaining supplies, the Mid Rim world of Manda has fallen to the New Republic. Being only a momentary setback in the fight against the enemy, the fall of the planet has led to massive losses among the New Republic fleet and armies that were assigned to take Manda...
[...]
[ ] Meram, Nijune, Sprizen... are we alone out here?
"Thank the Emperor for relief. We thought Command forgot about us, sir!"
"Uh… the honour is mine, Trooper." The commander of the Volta had stopped on an old jungle world, Menatar Vosk, to investigate reports of strange soldiers lurking in the dark wilderness, a report that had gotten flagged for a repeat of older pre-Yavin occurrences. What he had very much not expected was a group of Stormtroopers with armour more moss than plastoid emerge from seemingly nowhere, celebrating like he was Lord Vader to the rescue. Thankfully, Leghor Yultrik was very good at being Imperiously Stoic when surprised: Hiding the confusion, he instead gave the trooper Disinterested/Dismissive Officer Nod #92. "I do want to know who I am talking to. What is your operating number, trooper?"
The Stormtrooper snapped a rather smart salute, even if his helmet gained a small, new crack along the side. "Sir! Commander 205.104/G3, reporting for duty!" Oh dear, the man was old. G-suffix Operating Numbers hadn't been used in almost a decade. If he had been out of contact for so long... "Ah, if you don't mind me asking, the men and I are curious if Grand Moff Tarkin is sending us reinforcements. We'll need technicians to repair the garrison infrastructure, but the AT-ATs can hold out for a few more months if we need to ration things."
Tarkin? Did he mean the same one who had died six years ago? "Commander G3, at ease. When were you dispatched to this location?"
"Four or five years ago." The trooper seemed unconcerned with the somewhat personal abbreviation of his number into a name. "Not sure how the local orbit syncs with galactic standard dating, we've had to conserve power after the generator and radio tower went dark. Wasn't the rebels we were sent after though, we think Stav Kren is still on-world after we destroyed his shuttle."
That explained… a lot. They were possibly abandoned after losing contact, probably someone trying to save face with his superiors on Coruscant. "Commander, how many of your men are left?" Stav Kren was a rather infamous figure in Imperial records, mostly for how utterly he had humiliated the previous Nijune Sector Moff and others in the nearby area. His "Strike Force Altagak" had given many Imperial forces the slip until Tarkin's dragnet caught up with him two years before Yavin. Turns out he'd been given orders to be a visible, public nuisance so resources would be focused on him rather than covert forces in the same area.
"The lads with me are Squad 1045.2. They're the shinies of the bunch, but they'll get you good game and supplies, the same as any other I've had the honour of fighting with. Dorn-2 of 323rd Platoon and Dorn-7 of 325th Platoon are back at the AT-ATs doing perimeter and maintenance, and I think our Scout Trooper lance should be back by nightfall with the latest recon sweep. I am sorry to report our last CT, U-645, died a year or so ago. Good trooper, same as everyone else we lost. We buried our dead in a small clearing near the camp, full military honours."
"Understood, soldier. I will get in contact with CENTCOM - prepare your men ready for immediate evacuation from this planet."
Yultrik sighed softly as the Stormtrooper snapped another salute and turned around in a perfect about-face. Forget giving the man a promotion: For surviving five years on a jungle hellhole with nothing but a decaying garrison base and dying men, everyone on this world was getting two rank promotions, Medallions of Service, and Commander G3 would be put in for a Nova Star. At least, if he had anything to say about it. Snapping an order to the orderlies that had accompanied him and the cordon of soldiers under his command, Yultrik marched up the ramp of the shuttle. He had a call to make.
'The Moff will be very interested to hear this... And Commissar Engell too, of course.'
[X] It's not headhunting, it's adaptive recruitment!
Nat 100. (Thank Dutch for his memes. - Always Late)
Allajoe Rycla: A former member of the Lothal administration, she had the unenviable job of stepping into a role vacated by a rebel assassination and a population increasingly hostile. Yet she never lost any of the fervour and devotion to the Empire her former boss held. Her expertise is the usual mish-mash of Imperial heavy-handed force. Social unrest responses include seizure of property by the Imperial military and occupation by Stormtroopers, shows of Imperial order and peace involve lavish parades of soldiers and starfighter air shows. But for now, she is what the Sector needs, and the people are enjoying a return to old styles.
Vam Margan: The former Imperial Intelligence Special Forces soldier has agreed to settle his old contract with the Natori Association. His past experience has mostly been training non-human soldiers, but he hasn't let the skills the Empire gave him dwindle in the slightest. Between them both, the efficiency of the Imperial Militia in Morshdine will be enhanced in a variety of situations. Imperial Center even agreed to pay the mercenary's fees, so whatever friends he made that let him retire are still in high places.
Captain Bragg: One of the early officers who graduated the academy in the Republic to assume duties in the new Galactic Empire, she was demoted to Major after letting a major Separatist planetary leader get abducted by clones turned mercenary and exiled to a veritable dustball of a Mid-Rim world, we managed to direct her airlifting to Morshdine. They consist of twelve AT-TEs with terrain modifications, cargo gunships to transport them, and a few hundred Imperial Army infantry.
Valen Rudor: After a short jaunt on the planet of Lothal against the Spectres, and being humiliated by them, the Flight Baron requested a transfer to a different sector. Once again flying combat sorties, his reputation - in shambles after the continued humiliations on Lothal - began to quickly recover, and the man can claim an additional 73 kills on his resume. Brings with him the 253rd Fighter Group, equipped with 4 TIE/IN interceptors and 13 TIE/LN fighters.
Colonel Brenna: The 9th Mechanized Brigade of the Reconstituted 501st Legion has been deployed to Oversector Morshdine. The veteran of Death Squadron who earned infamy for proclaiming her controversial reforms proved her unit could succeed where the Clones of the 501st had fallen short. After a brutal and desperate battle to evacuate Imperial stragglers from the forest moon of Endor, she has now been promoted to the ranks of that auspicious unit. Her air-mobile brigade gave normally special forces or officer exclusive equipment and tactical freedoms to line Stormtroopers with walker and TIE support. Its new form after Isard's consolidation lists two assault battalions, a line battalion, an armour battalion, one artillery battery, an extensive air Support Wing, and an entire Special Mission Battalion... on paper. Their true strength is radically different.
Major Rabraa Roth: One of the rare non-Humans in the Imperial Army, the Zabrak Captain was decorated with the Grand Medal of Resolution and promoted for her role in the Battle of Restuss, both securing vital scientific data of a personal project by the late Emperor and decimating some of the best special forces the rebels brought. She only has three companies of green Imperial Army troopers left, but they do have a few heavy weapons and repulsorlift transports. She has already folded the militia into her retraining efforts, which has been going much better than expected. Grants a +2 to battle rolls, and a +5 to Military rolls.
Ellian Zahra: The adopted daughter of the late Wilhuff Tarkin has been promoted to Rear Admiral after numerous battles in the north-eastern Outer Rim following Endor, and successfully poached from Zsinj. She has several data taps and human intelligence sources in the New Republic for your exclusive use, building on her earlier work with probe droid nets and data security. Even as the Empire collapses, her burning thirst for gutting Leia Organa with her own blade has not wavered, nor has it broken her focus on what needs to be done. Leia Organa Solo no longer feels the same hate and pain at Elessia, but knows she has to be stopped. The New Republic has designated her a Class-1A War Criminal, on the same level as the Regentess and former General Veers. Comes with the ISD Tarkin's Will and the associated escorts (2x Arquitens Command Cruisers, 1x Tartan). Encryption and decryption rolls boosted by +5.
Maximillian Veers: Veers was wounded significantly during the Battle of Hoth, and requires a cane to walk due to his refusal to consider a prosthetic for his lost right leg. While this prevented him from serving at Endor, he was assigned to Eriadu and got caught up in the short-lived Warlord state. His very public denouncement of Sander Delvardus at the Eriadu Authority's announcement bought his life, Isard instead revoking Vader's two-rank promotion and returning him to the rank of Colonel he had only a few short years ago. Then Veers reported his own son had almost certainly deserted to the New Republic and disowned him. Again, his honourable conduct spared his life, but he was reduced to a mere Captain. Now, the father of the AT-AT has been given a rare chance to rebuild his prestige as the Commissar of Morshdine for Armament Procurement and Production. His unique expertise is assured to make walker designs quicker to turn from ideas on holomatter to stomping engines of death, but he is firm in the belief of walker superiority in all but a few situations.
Everik Dondarvan: One of the most decorated members of the Space Rescue Corp, Captain Dondarvan combines independence and discipline in that unique way only a Correllian can demonstrate. He's happy to save lives, regardless of what uniform they wear. As the Imperial military largely left the famously non-political civilian branch to carry out their own affairs, the 403rd Space Rescue Squadron is at full strength. Their roster of ships is far from military-grade, with only a heavily modified CR-70 that can be vaguely considered capable of self-defence. But with their Rescue Frigates, modified Consular frigates, and Spirit class medical shuttles, spacers across the Oversector are feeling much more confident about taking jobs. The TIE pilots even seem slightly less suicidal.
Garrick Versio: The Admiral and Father Of Special Forces has agreed to send Inferno Squad to the Oversector, and has work in the nearby Rim territories, but will not be staying. Versio's brainchild, Inferno Squad has been shattered by treason. Actual treason this time: With Iden Versio and Del Meeko having defected to the New Republic, only Gideon Hask remains of the original four. He now commands three new Special Forces Troopers recruited from across the old Imperial Military special forces branches. Versio and Hask have already shared with you the requirements for establishing a new Imperial Academy capable of producing recruits to their standards. You've also been given leave to turn some of their unique gear, TL-50 heavy repeaters and REFLEC armor, over to your scientists and engineers for reverse-engineering and production. Inferno Squad is immediately ready for tasking.
This is what you rolled on. Except now you're getting the whole lot, and a little something special on top.
Saarle Fiosach
You knew Isard had promised a great many things in reward for what you had given her on Kaine. Many things, many unspecified things. Yet this seemed to defy any reasonable explanation. You could explain the smattering of important pilots and specialists as the reassignment of valuable people was the bread and butter of office politics and rewarding commanders, and the number of people with connections to Imperial Intelligence, befitting someone now tied intimately to Isard's government. But when the Star Destroyer Tarkin's Will appeared out of Hyperspace with Isard's personal codes, again, signifying a new unit transfer, it beggared belief. This wasn't just a silly gesture or local back-patting. Isard was broadcasting to the entire galaxy that she had invested her rare trust in you.
You were being given one of the Empire's monsters.
That was the first thought in your head as you looked out the shuttle window at the Star Destroyer now under your personal command. By the Eternal, if its commander wasn't a madwoman you'd think the Empire was truly finished. You knew what that ship had done despite the damage done to it, when after Hoth everyone was holding their breath to see if the Rebellion would finally be brought to its knees. Tarkin's Will had a story that was meant to inspire fanaticism as much as its namesake's fear. Every crewmember had lost a friend, a family member, or a loved one on the first Death Star, and the two massive gashes from massive shrapnel that went portside of the main hangar all the way forward to the main supply stores, with the visible scoring from heated metal going through Imperial Gray paint, spoke of their dedication to the theme.
The shuttle pilot and your passenger, also transfers to your command, seemed to share your unsettlement.
"One's first look at it is always an experience." That was Baron Valen Rudor, a well-renowned ace who had racked up an impressive string of kills even before his near fall from grace at Lothal, and with your new security credentials, you'd even seen the part of his file that covered the test piloting of Lord Vader's TIE Advanced. You could already tell he'd be of great use in one of your TIE Defenders, or in a new Academy training TIE pilots: But beyond the pragmatic calculations of the future, right now he was equally uncomfortable as the two other occupants and being as obvious as unsuccessful in trying to defuse the tension through solidarity.
"Is that what TIE pilots call getting assigned to a ship like that, 'An experience'?" The Corellian piloting the shuttle was unabashed in his disgust. Something he had more than a little right to beyond traditional anti-authoritarian streaks common to that culture. "Moff Fiosach, I'll be straight with you. I don't mind you pulling political games to get me and my fliers out here. The Outer Rim always needed a helping hand that wasn't holding a blaster." Captain Everik Dondarvan, 403rd Space Rescue Squadron. The most decorated rescue pilot in the galaxy, and leader of a company of other decorated humanitarians. "But people like her expect everybody to put them on the pedestal that crushes them underneath. And I can't do my job if everybody thinks I'm some Imp come to clean up a massacred convoy."
"I have zero intention of subordinating you to the Navy, Captain Dondarvan." You replied coolly. He was smart enough to read between the lines. So you wouldn't insult him by spelling it out, nor alienate him by making obvious lies. "And I have equally little interest in using civilians for target practice. The so-called Ciutric Hegemony sends me enough refugees to dissuade that foolishness." Ah, the Captain's hands had tightened on the controls. If you could keep him focused on what people he could save from the many humanitarian crises in the galaxy, then a gap between him and the monsters you kept on hand would naturally form and prevent friction.
Shame you can't do the same for yourself. People who practice melee combat as some serious combat skill are inherently strange, to say nothing of what vengeance-motivated sentients tended to do in social situations.
"Moff Fiosach." The infamous former protegee of Grand Moff Tarkin was curt, if professional. She clearly didn't want to be there, but was willing to follow orders. For now, at least.
"Commander, welcome to Oversector Morshdine." At least she shook your hand after the salute. "There is much work to be done, and we have been given a great burden."
"The work, such as it is at this time, is with Rear Admiral Sloane." Commander Zahra's correction was very much oozing with distaste. "The facts of the situation are plain. Task Force Tarkin is being taken off the Mid-Rim to protect Isard's contingency."
That phrasing and skeptical tone got you interested. Someone who made no bones about what they said to the point of slipping secrets… well, you had made do with less useful people. "You call it a contingency. That says you're already thinking about a future. A very specific future."
"I"m thinking of whether Isard's making the correct call or is losing her touch." Zahra's voice was as icy as the woman she spoke of. "There are two things you will have to understand about me, Moff Fiosach. Number one, I do not believe in hope or fairness, only reality. Number Two, I shall not die until I have impressed upon Princess Leia Organa Solo the true extent of the crimes she has committed and delivered her execution."
See? For all the talk of 'reality', Zahra could only see her goal. Everything either furthered it, or was an obstacle to be removed. Such cold, hateful spite the destruction of the Death Star kindled in her.
"An admirable sentiment, Commander Zahra. That kind of loyalty and fervour is why Lord Vader saw fit to bring you out of exile." The old man who spoke still wore the white uniform and black cap of his old office, even with his new Navy rank and the Bureau barely resembling its former self. He turned to you briefly to greet you with a slight but respectful nod. A sign that while his rank, in theory, made you his commander, his true power still lay with Isard. "Hope is the spark that kindled the Rebellion, and the reality is we now face a firestorm unseen in over twenty years."
Admiral Garrick Versio, formerly of the ISB, had earned the sobriquet 'Father of the Special Forces' for his work before and after Isard's reforms. After the first Death Star's destruction, he had been given special dispensation to trial an independent branch of the Imperial Military, a dedicated Spec-For organization instead of the disparate daggers in the dark each Imperial branch and agency aimed at each other as much as the Rebels. At his side should have been the three members of Inferno Squad. Now, one very put-on-the-spot Agent in a dark uniform stood at tense attention alongside three shadowy troopers in armour reminiscent of TIE Pilot suits. But whatever worried them didn't seem to bother the Admiral or the commander one bit.
"Commander Zahra and I have the pleasure of sharing with you the fruits of a very beneficial collaboration between the new Imperial Security Bureau and Imperial Special Forces." He gestured with a datapad between the squad beside him and to the conference room around you. "Oversector Morshdine has proven to be the progenitor of several key reforms that may yet turn the tide of the war. We wish to see how your administration's talents affect battlefield efforts. While I will be commanding missions outside of Morshdine on a fairly regular basis, Agent Hask and the Commander will be my ears and your hands. Task Force Tarkin and its ground force shall be transferred to your direct command."
That much seemed to line up with what Isard described vaguely as what she'd arranged for you. "That sounds all well and good, Admiral Versio, and I don't want to take up the time of a man as busy as yourself. But that means I shall be blunt: I only see one member of Inferno. Who are these troopers?"
A blunt, but very purposeful test of the man and his ties.
Garrick Versio was unphased by the jab. If anything, he smiled like he'd just taken a piece in Shah-tezh. "They are the future." At a nod, they each removed their helmets. You saw very different men and women, seemingly drawn from different parts of the galaxy. "Drawn from the best of the ISB, Army, and Navy. The new generation of Special Forces Trooper, led by the one who has survived the crucible of loyalty and success."
That got a reaction out of Agent Hask. "Thank you Admiral. I shall continue to deliver you victory."
"You no longer need to think solely about me, Agent." Garrick demurred. "You are under the command of Moff Fiosach. She will give you your orders." Which prompted him to salute you again.
"Moff Fiosach, it's an honor." You returned it, but you let your displeasure at simpering be just visible enough to clue the meathead in. "You have missions for us? Or special training?"
"Soon, Agent Hask. Soon enough you'll have war." Was your curt response. You decided to try and string him along, see how he reacted. "The galaxy is going to burn, the chaos we've seen these past two years are nothing compared to what shall come. You may find yourself questioning if that eagerness was wise."
That last line seemed to have touched a nerve, as Agent Hask had to suppress a wrathful grimace. "Whatever the Rebels throw at us, we will adapt and overcome. I was taught one simple duty: Do Not Fail The Empire. And we won't, not until our dying day."
"I take it you refer to more than your squad?" Stabilize the man's mood, that'll help him focus better. The defection of Garrick's daughter, for real this time, seemed to have left a mark on him. Betrayal always does. "These new ground forces."
"Oh, you'll want to see them." The expression on Hask's face was something between awe and bloodlust. "They're living legends. I'm nothing compared to these men, they've served for decades!"
"Then shall we greet them?" You had your suspicions. Well, it was more like a disbelieving surprise, but you weren't going to let anybody here see that. A meathead with a chip on his shoulder, an obsessed stalker, and a shadowy spymaster? Hardly qualifying for confidants. "That is the next item on your little walking tour."
A few short hours later, you stood on the main Morshdine landing pad. Thankfully you and Arine had been able to organize a more impressive honour guard than what you had presented to the Royal Guard. The expanded Commissariat of Internal Affairs had put their best people into a dedicated parade unit meant to be assembled and disbanded as needed, while the Morshdine Militia had their 1. Guards Battalion of the Morshdine Militia, or the Guards Battalion for short. Once again, all only picked from the best performing soldiers to even begin an intense training regimen. It almost made you feel like a proper, self-absorbed pencil-pusher Moff, were it not for the auspicious and ominous event. You would receive the instrument of old Imperial might, which signified your place as Isard's right-hand woman.
A brigade of the new 501st Legion.
That mad, impossible thought couldn't stop racing through your mind even as the first units marched off the disembarking ramp. A veritable relic of a more civilized age, a company of plodding AT-TEs, the Imperial symbol clean and polished while the clear signs of jungle-clearing modifications were still faded from regular covering in detritus. At least they had LAAT cargo gunships to move them around, the Oversector's peacekeepers didn't even have police gunships. Behind them were the distinctive early models of the AT-AT, as their prominent bubble-cheeks observation windows denoted. You surmised that with the assumption of Imperial space superiority now in question, many of the older models with the top anti-air turret were being surreptitiously brought out of storage.
That wasn't what tested your discipline to avoid gawking, grabbing your sister and running the hell away or demanding the nearest officer get Isard on the line immediately to explain what sick joke she was playing. The infantry you saw filing out in perfect parade formation, their plastoid boots thumping on the troopship's landing ramp like some great mechanical heartbeat, they were Stormtroopers alright. But you took half a moment to remind yourself their armour hadn't been dragged out of a garbage chute.
Covered in mud and ash, chipped and weathered, any other unit would've gotten citations by the dozen for an appearance deviating from the Stormtrooper Corp's exacting personal standards. These were the remnants of a broken, battered unit. These were the survivors of Endor, and likely other losses as the Rebels swarmed across the galaxy in its wake. As the soldiers who had served the Empire for over twenty years, some even longer, stopped before her, a single Stormtrooper stepped forward. Helmet removed, you could tell the face of any Fett-type clone a mile away. In both hands, he clenched a banner ragged with age and battle damage. With a harsh grunt, he slammed the pole into the metal before stepping back to salute it.
A simple black standard, with a crimson six-spoked roundel, held a simple phrase in Mandalorian and Aurebesh. '501st Legion - Vader's Fist.'
"We really have fallen far." You managed to catch that breathless whisper from the man beside you.
"Something you've observed, Commander Two-oh-five?" The old Stormtrooper wasn't a sadistic lunatic or a mindless obeyer of rules, not after years of surviving in the wild, and you valued his insight - if handled discreetly. "Isn't that a bit out of the norm for a Stormtrooper?"
"Not at all, ma'am. Not my generation at least." He replied with a bit more calm, but still very aware the entire parade ground could potentially hear him. "People like me signed up because of the inspiration The First Legion showed us. They brought the galaxy to order under General Skywalker, then Darth Vader. I know not all of them are 501st, but Mud Troopers in this day and age are arguably a worse sign. If the Rebels have gotten this strong, there is much to be done."
"Indeed." You replied with a forceful redirection ahead. The 'I am in agreement, just pissed at someone we mutually hate' tone.
The two of you approached the line of officers in front of this… impotently auspicious gathering of Imperial might. They saluted, and you both returned it. "Well, who has the Imperial Center brought to the Oversector today?"
"Captain Bragg, reporting for your assignment Moff Fiosach. My walkers are experienced and crew battle-hardened, and the 350th Cargo Wing was some of the best in the Mid-Rim." She was older, a cadet during the Clone Wars who had started in the opening months of The New Order, but still the youngest of the entire bunch. From what you could dig up in her record, there was a classified incident where a former Separatist planetary leader had been abducted from her custody. She'd been stuck on a backwater garrison with her tanks ever since and eventually transitioned from the Clones to Imperial Army Troopers as the years went on. Not useless, her book smarts and experience with Clones were not to be discounted, but very much a breed apart from the others she now served with.
"Captain Roth, Imperial Army 225th Assault Battalion." The woman who spoke was quite a remarkable addition for three reasons. First, she was a Zabrak. Second, she wore Crusader Mark III pattern light armour: But given they were made to Mandalorian standards, even if supposedly purchased by the Black Sun, it would be very durable against any weapon. And third, she had been decorated with the Grand Medal of Resolution. Meaning she'd played a critical part in defeating the Rebels at the Battle of Restuss. "What I have are all fully armed and mounted. I've taken on the best the Rebels have to offer, they'll stand and fight whatever you point at." Aggressive, but matter-of-fact and to the point. Given her reputation in training Stormtroopers, you expected to see great results from letting her get at the militia.
"Colonel Brenna, at your service. This is, or was, my Brigade." The woman behind the creation of the 9th Mechanized Brigade spoke with that standard Imperial officer regality but now tinged with a hint of 'not quite sure reality hadn't gone topsy-turvy'. "I can hardly say I expected to be put in command of the 501st in any capacity. Death Squadron was no stranger to rivalries. But we're all comrades in the Empire's service." A reformer, then. Someone recognized by Darth Vader as having potential and who managed to fight her way off of Endor despite the overwhelming superiority of the Rebels after the destruction of the Second Death Star. The Internal Affairs people had managed to fill a request for their needed supplies. At first, you thought someone got a Mandalorian Crusader history text forwarded instead. Personal shields, mortars, ACP scatterguns, hover and tripod-mounted turrets, anti-scan systems, Vader's personal ground troops didn't use this much exotic equipment. But then again, much of it was reserved for Imperial Officers, so providing it to the few remaining Stormtroopers made a certain amount of sense.
And then there was the last officer to meet you. A face everyone in the Empire recognized, yet had become an object of scorn for slights real and imagined. "Commissar Veers. What are your orders, ma'am?" The father of the AT-AT was professional, even courteous. Yet between his brief stint with a defecting Admiral at Eriadu and the self-reporting of his own son's defection to the Rebels, the black mark all veterans of Death Squadrons shared suddenly had much more meat to bite into. Which was why he had been busted down to Colonel again, then Captain, and then transferred over to a Commissariat. Your Commissariat.
"I shall deliver the specifics in due time, Commissar, but for now Armament Procurement and Production awaits you. The job will soon feel quite familiar, I can assure you."
The Rebels would come for you, if not before for your prosperity and reforms, then now for the broken sword you now possessed.
You would show them a new blade when they came.
[ ] 12th Fleet, Kaine's Hand, force integration.
DC: 35, 45, 65, 75
Roll: 67
It wasn't unheard of to have a gala for military officers, Moff Saarle Fiosach and her sister Arine had been to a number of them. But given this wasn't Imperial Center, and only a handful of people with ranks worthy of the Imperial General Staff were present, it was a somewhat awkward cross between a mandatory company drinking night and a new base opening party. Baron Valen Rudor was at the bar doing a rather admirable job of being a host. It was his place, after all. He'd confided in Saarle on the flight over that a confiscated local business on Lothal had been turned over to him, and seeing as he'd been a past patron of the place he'd tried to keep it up and running. And she had to admit, The Landing Strip looked about as casual and intimate as Imperial military-catering establishments could get.
Even Arine's Death Troopers were mixing drinks at the bar and nobody was all that terrified of them, most probably because none of those assembled knew just what the tall, long-limbed, pale and un-helmeted bartenders' day-time jobs were.
Which meant it was time to do that all-important piece of being a government official with administrative and military duties: Network. Because like hell Saarle was going to lose something she paid out the ass for in their first deployment because nobody worked together. So while she was working over the new arrivals from Kaine's Oversector Outer, Arine would be taking the opportunity to try and get in touch with the line officers of 12th Fleet. And of course, Commissar Pryde would be watching all of them as a contingency plan.
The eponymous Shield Sisters were absolute polar opposites, right down to their red-black and blue-white TIE Pilot uniforms. "I'm starting to wonder if Kaine suggested them as a twisted joke." You asked yourself, staring at the two as they knocked back another drink. The differences between them were exaggerated, if somewhat similar, to how you and Younger Sister got along. Although from how often Baron Ryuketsu threatened to kill her sister, you frankly didn't want to consider Arine ever becoming that hostile: She was having fun, as she talked 'shop' with the two ace pilots, whatever that was. The kid with her head in the stars was fascinated by Tapani and Arkania.
"So what is Tapani nobility like? There's obviously more than the seven for all that history."
"The Tapani Oversector has many who claim to be the descendants of great heroes or tyrants. Explorers and conquerors." Arine didn't much care how uncomfortably similar Lady Latyl's uniform resembled that of a Grand Admiral. Sighing to yourself, you nonetheless listened with your little sister to the noblewoman speak - and she had a way with words that made her stories and tales pleasant to listen to. "But the great metaphor one can point to is the Great Vault of Xim. One dramatic life stands across the span of time. Those who survive them have nothing but memories." The pilot briefly nursed a glass of vintage wine before affixing you both with a forewarning glare. "Always be mindful of what will become of the future."
"Fah! Fat lot of words when you can just say it plain right." The Bloody Baroness chuffed from behind a frothing mug of some pungent-smelling grog that she had been knocking back all night. "If all you've got to your claim is your mummy or daddy's work, then you're one hell of wasted sperm. I mean look at these." She fumbled at her waist for a few moments before slapping a metal cross-shaped object on the table. "It'sssa damn Lightfoil. Proppa Sith make, got the qulli-illi- ya know what I mean." You very assuredly knew what it meant: One more sword-obsessed lunatic to wrangle in addition to that Tarkin-obsessed maniac. Arine, on the other hand, was hopefully starting to understand why the Empire left the nobility alone, and the common people considered nobles exemplars worthy of special privileges. "And what've they made since the Jedi gave them the boot? Nothin' like it! Even sis just uses a family heirloom, I had to make this thing from original parts."
"Indeed." The Lady of Tanpani gently placed an ornate, basket-hilted object on the table, never removing her fingers, and keeping her eyes on the people around her as much as on your sister and yourself. A nagging feeling in the back of your mind demanded you get your own - an idea which, for a moment, you seriously contemplated before shelving it for the future. "But this is no crutch. It is a focus, where my mind is honed through the exertion of my body. As a former mentor once explained, the expertise of the blade stimulates the flow of oxygen in your body, increases hormones to sharpen reflexes, consumes nutrients to grow one's form, and unshackles the mind from the confines of complacency. Along with…" Lady Latyl surreptitiously stored the ancient weapon within the confines of her suit. "Other. Uses."
"Yeah, beating the snot out of uppity scumbags is a hell of a time!" Sella cackled.
Flight Commander Nash Windrider was something of a refreshing change compared to the Noble Sisters - a little bit more boring, with none of the hotblooded nature of Sella or the grace of Latyl, but still with a charisma of his own - and, from what you had seen, a very conventional pilot. The type of leader who made his status clear through his skill and comportment with subordinates...and that is also why you saw him flirt with a couple of off-duty Stormtroopers. It seemed he was having...limited success.
"-So that's why I need a couple of friendly faces to help make this special. Sure, I put her up for Crimson Star, but she more than earned it. Having a few Stormtroopers at the ceremony would just make her year." Altruism? "Come on, we'll make it up to you at the afterparty." Hardly.
"Why don't you go fly off, Navy boy." One of the Stormtroopers waved him off before going back to her drink.
"We have better things to do on shore leave than get drunk with bad company." The other chimed in, prompting her compatriot to loudly clank their bracers together.
"Well, Stormtroopers are pretty in demand, so that's fair." He took the rejection like a man though, and with good humour. Compared to those prideful idiots over on Anaxes, it was almost chivalrous! "Oh, Moff Fiosach! Commissar Arine, the Younger Sister! It is a pleasure to meet you both." ...and he ruined it, and it took every piece of self-control to not tear him a new one where he stood. You had not achieved your position through nepotism or bribery, or connections, you had worked your back off to get where you were now as the Head Commissar of Agriculture and Industry, who did this vac-head think he was talking to?! Seeing your barely contained rage, Elder Sister stepped in with a roll of her eyes.
"Settling in with the rest of the squadron, Flight Leader?"
The pilot grimaced, perhaps thinking about something, before sighing with a shake of his head. You decided to grab a drink, gesturing to one of the disguised Death Troopers at the bar - he saw the gesture, nodded, and quickly had a glass of wine ready for you to drink. With a content sigh and some alcohol in your system, you returned to the conversation, Elder Sister subtly nodding with a small smile that caused your breath to hitch for a moment.
"I...must admit, it is...calmer than expected. Honestly, it's been the quietest few months any of us have had since Cloud City."
"Did you have shore leave there?" The mining station of Bespin had become a rather infamous hotspot since its administrator joined the Rebels, and the panic there had been amplified when the Imperial occupational authorities emerged afterwards.
"Not really. My old friend and I were actually supposed to sabotage the hyperdrive on an old Corellian Freighter. Wanted at the highest levels. We took time to see the sights and really talk again since we got the job done thoroughly ahead of schedule." His expression turned rather chagrined. "At least, that's what we thought."
"You were in Death Squadron! You were part of Lord Vader's personal troops!" You were sure that Elder Sister was going to get on your ass about not keeping the appropriate amount of fear, but Windrider had served in Death Squadron! A true Imperial patriot, one who served the best of the best in the military, under Lord Vader himself! Elder Sister, if she was in your situation, wouldn't react differently!
"Being selected by Darth Vader for his unit is a great honor. But anyone who served on the Devastator or Executor that let it get to their head didn't live very long. I served the Empire as Vader willed, without fail, even during Endor." His gaze briefly flickered off to somewhere else. You didn't quite catch who or what though, but with the turn the conversation took, it likely wasn't anything pretty. "And always with loyalty."
...What an interesting note to end on.
Arine's custom-fitted blue uniform stood out like a sore thumb against the greens and grays of the other officer ranks. But in the Empire, unique uniforms were a sign of special privilege. Status born of exemplary service to the central authority.
And it was always the nature of the powerful to have people seek out a portion of their strength.
"So, you've finally got a ship of your own." A gunnery officer spoke up. "Congratulations, you'll get in the swing of command in no time."
"Indeed, indeed." This was what Arine had wanted, been denied, for over twenty years. These men who had always looked down at a Rim-born brat were finally treating her as a peer! But she had to keep her Imperial Command Bearing, like Elder Sister was always telling her. She couldn't get too friendly with them right off the bat. "The Volta shall be a valiant new member of the Oversector's operations against enemies great and small. The raiders praying on common people shall learn to fear that name." There, not robbing them of pride but still emphasizing her own importance.
Another officer, an Arquitens captain, looked up from his datapad and mug of something mildly alcoholic. Arine didn't repress the petty, smug pride in the fact she was drinking something far stronger. "You done any digging into your cruiser's service record? She's an old ship, all those Clone Wars designs are."
The Volta's new captain took a sip of her heavy drink. She could taste the heavy grains and tubers fermented with scientific precision and disguised the brief surge of vapour in her sinuses with her own variant of the Imperious Dismissive Sniff #12. "She was part of the Victory Fleet under Captain Terrinald Screed, the first fifty Victory-I deployments during the Foerost Campaign. Credited with two of the Separatist Bulwarks over Anaxes. After the New Order, she served much as she will continue here: Escort and planetary defence duties. The Volta still uses the Starfighter-grade concussion missiles, so they have quite a high number of starfighter kills along with the usual corvettes and frigates." That seemed to spark a light of memory in the 12th Fleet captain's eye.
"I think I recall that name now. She was part of the anti-pirate operation in the 18th Fleet last year, mopping up any rebel stragglers. But after Endor the Rebels came back with their main fleet, Volta was the only survivor." Arine gave a grim, satisfied smile. A survivor's ship, that's just what she wanted.
"You going to make any modifications?" This time a TIE maintenance crew chief spoke up. "The Victory ones are usually planetary defence vessels these days, but ever since the Harrow was unveiled, some captains have been going to command or paying out of pocket for alterations."
"The true modification I think many of us who've been on a Victory-I want will have to wait for now." Arine sighed with genuine remorse. "The new shipyard network is made for mass production, we don't actually have a facility there to hold the Volta. Hence why she's berthed with you all." As many of her fellow officers nodded, she plugged a datapad into the table's holoprojector, flickering to life with a small image depicting her command ship. "That said, we can make some changes here. Nothing above your clearance, you're all capable of discretion."
The trick of trust-baiting-loyalty Elder Sister spoke of seemed to work. Any who had compulsions about knowing things they officially shouldn't politely excused themselves, and those who remained looked genuinely interested. "The usual anti-starfighter fire control systems are already on-site, the question is whether to use chaingun point-defence or quad laser cannons." The hologram lit up with several highlighted sections showing either the squat turret of rapid-fire point-defence blasters or the viewport and single gunner for reciprocating quad-mount cannons common on light freighters. "The real question is whether to alter the weapon banks inside the atmospheric manoeuvring surfaces."
The hologram now zoomed in before dividing to show mirrored cutaways of the Victory's main port and starboard weapon batteries. "We can put just about anything in there, those old designs were meant to be more multi-role. Ion cannons are easy to find for Victory-IIs, but more turbolaser batteries or laser cannons could easily be plugged in and interfaced with the existing computer systems." She turned to the small huddle of officers, many hanging on her words, while others were already thinking of their own ideas.
"So, what would you each recommend?" Arine knew initiative was a watchword in the Grand Army of the Republic, but she was now starting to experience its power for herself as the 12th fleet's functioning body opened their collective brainpower to her use.
As Arine made inroads with her new friends, Saarle had her own bitter pill to swallow. For all the grizzled veterans, efficient butchers, living legends, and obsessive killers in your new command, there were still some familiar faces that she hadn't signed arrest or execution warrants for.
Which is why the Moff could tell Admiral Yagada was only slightly more displeased to be in the presence of lower ranks than usual when she slid into the booth across from him.
"Well, Moff Fiosach." The man's blunt stubbornness managed to make itself felt through a sigh or resignation. Almost admirable. "I hope all this," He dismissively spun his hand at the room. "Is to your and your sister's liking. You've paid quite the price for it." If the head of Oversector Morshdine hadn't put up with this snobbish bootlicker for years, she would have concluded there was an air of advice in his tone.
"Rest assured, Admiral Yagada, I haven't lost my touch with business despite the new organization." Saarle was beginning to feel there was something much more 'herself' in the tan and brown of a Commissariat uniform than the grey-green of the navy. More terrestrial. Connected. Stable. And compared to the uniforms associated with the Empire, distinctive enough to signal some level of separation from that entity. "In times like these, connections are what will bring order back to the galaxy."
"But is that what got you anywhere?" Yagada took her deliberately cocked eyebrow as permission to continue. "I'm not so busy at naval social events I forget how the Empire works. You never made it a priority to keep to orthodoxy, you built the Oversector on results!"
The plasteel table almost creaked from how hard Saarle was gripping it. "I'd choose your next words carefully, Admiral. Insinuating disloyalty is a serious acus-" The man had the temerity to wave her words off like some misunderstanding. As if he wasn't visibly sweating blaster bolts.
"C-come come, Moff Fiosach. Really now, disloyalty is the last thing I'd use to describe you, you're hardly a democrat. I'm talking about how you handle administrative matters." He casually twirled his moustache, his usual self-soothing tic when he was trying to act collected. "Other Moffs tax the people to starvation, yet you always put what profit you made back into the business world and workers. People had rights and freedoms only those on out-of-the-way or innocuous Sectors enjoyed. You brought prosperity in the Emperor's name, and the people loved you two for it. Now you bring terror and backroom deals to the Oversector. How long will they stay loyal to you?"
"You said it yourself: So long as I maintain prosperity and happiness, Morshdine will last as long as we live."
"Do heed my choice of words." Yagada pretentiously interjected, tapping a toothpick on his glass like a teacher as he stared down at the Rim-born Imperial Governor. "I specified loyalty, not obedience. Learn the distinctions, lest Isard and Kaine crush your life's work."
"This is just the beginning, Yagada. In the future, looking back on this conversation, you will see." That wasn't a good thing. Not with what both of them knew what was to come. But the woman who had pioneered innovations spreading across the Empire's remaining territory saw things the 12th Fleet's admiral likely couldn't even conceive, and which he could only be in awe about when they were finally unveiled.
"Maybe I misjudged you, Saarle Fiosach." A twitching eyebrow caused the Admiral to back off a little, as one hand inched closer to the pistol holstered in the dark brown coat she wore. "Moff. Fiosach." She ground out. For a moment Saarle briefly considered trying to strangle the man, or smash the glass of beer into his head, or shoot him - but the moment passed, and the Admiral breathed a sigh of relief. "Address your superior by rank at all times, Admiral."
The admiral visibly sputtered for a moment before regaining his composure. But he couldn't keep that stupidly curled moustache from twitching. "My apologies, Moff." He doffed his head with no small amount of disdain. "I thought you were a breed apart from the Imperial Center's politics. I see now you were simply born under the wrong stars."
"You have made quite an impression." If there was a way for a green-suited old Coreworld blue-blood with a cane to blend in at a military bar, Enric Pryde had somehow accomplished it. Something Saarle was keen to join him in. Privacy, however illusionary, was a luxury even for the powerful in the Empire - and that meant everyone had to work for it.
"Commissar." The Moff doffed her glass of wine, an Alsakan vintage to honour her new naval Commissar, before sliding onto the barstool beside him. "I hope this has at least been somewhat to your liking."
"Networking is a tool of leaders." Enric shrugged, artificially but no less reflective of his lack of strong feeling. "One must command respect from subordinates, yet always have something they desire out of their reach."
"And what do you hold above the others?"
"Let me see…" Commissar Pryde nursed his wine thoughtfully, slowly, before resuming, "The Sisters of Tanpani. The pair each have two sides to them, a public persona and one private. All have dangers and uses."
"I shall find out what secrets their family holds. Nobility is very traceable, you of all people would know." She felt a small flare of pride at seeing the corner of Enric' mouth briefly twitch upward. The ties may not have been historical, but people who put pride on lineage knew even the close relatives. "That they are non-human will make the dossier more comprehensive."
"I suspect that may not be the first update you receive though. You may have to clear a contradiction of Imperial decrees for young Windrider."
"And what manner of Coruscant politics am I to deal with?"
"Not Imperial Center, Imperial as in the Household." …Karabast. Kriff it all. "Nash Windrider is a veteran of Death Squadron, yet he falls afoul of a general order given by Darth Vader. While the late Lord clearly desired his service despite this, if found by your enemies they could turn it into a weakness, and exploit it."
"What weakness could be found that I do not already know?" That was always a tricky question. The dilemma Emperors, kings, politicians, and commanders throughout history have always had a hard time answering: What's my weakness? To ask this of someone means understanding both what the questioner and the answerer have to gain from any answer.
"That his fate should be the same he witnessed upon his home, his people, and his culture: Alderaan." That name. That one, damnable, pivotal name. The spark almost half a decade ago that turned the Empire on its head and threw this civil war from a smattering of insurrections into outright chaos.
"Tarkin, you lunatic."
"I suspect that's what Lord Vader's insights with the Force showed what others could not see. He's the last Alderaanian loyal to the Empire." Darth Vader was always feared for the power his religion gave him, a power few in the galaxy understood and many did not wish to learn about. For the Moff of Oversector Morshdine, it would not do to be controlled by such base ignorance, but whatever mystic insights the Emperor's Fist gleaned from Nash Windrider Saarle Fiosach have no desire to ever understand. The thought flared through her mind like a searing bolt of lightning, one that she tried to quell with an uncharacteristically heavy gulp of wine. A bloodthirsty, monomaniacal killer was one thing. But to know a man who so torturously debases everything he once loved for the mere tolerance of the evil ones who inflicted his pain upon him…
"Then I shall ensure those who know continue to have no reason to change their minds, and those who care will have no reason to know." The message in her tone was very obvious: Change the subject, or else.
"Very well." If Enric had any comments on Saarle's handling of that dark secret, he kept his peace. "I suppose you shall speak with your sister regarding the 12th Fleet's line officers. Yagada is an easy enough fool to figure out, they're the real matter."
"You've proven to be a wealth of insight so far, what say you about the average man in the fleet?"
"Their engagement with your sister is a sign of their limitations. They are loyal to the chain of command, and to their paychecks." Enric grimaced in disdain as he nursed another bit of wine. "They will not take action because they've come to see Admiral Yagada's performance as normal, but they aren't so in his sway any person from your circle of authority, even your direct family, is automatically ostracized. He must be seen as the one to break with regulations, not us, before they will rally to the Moff's office. Or a very well-thought-out use of Stormtroopers is made, but Yagada's made a point to keep them off his ships."
"Looks like I have my work cut out for me then." Moff Fiosach shared a rare, open anticipatory smile with Enric Pryde and raised a glass in a toast. The Commissar only hesitated a moment before returning the toast with a mildly ambitious grin of his own, eyes glinting.
"To the future restoration of order and peace."
[ ] Securing New Republic contacts
DC: 30
Roll: Nat 1. (Of all the things to get it on. - Always Late, Ojou-Sama)
Multiple times, for weeks on end, hails and requests went out through channels known to be allied to the Rebellion and the New Republic.
The result was nothing. Not a reaction, not even an indication of a message received and then subsequently ignored, just a complete information blackout for an entire month afterwards. Isard had not intercepted the messages, of course, otherwise there would have been an investigation and your head on a pike - but with the silence and the unrelenting New Republic attacks in the Galactic North-East and South... Perhaps the time for negotiations with the New Republic was well and truly over. Still, you could try again in the future...
You could only pray that this was not the prelude to something far worse.
[X] Tracing the Flimsi-Trail
DC: 80
Roll: 93
See Interlude: Operation: Postmaster
[X] Coming Clean
DC: 60 (70 - 10 due to success of Tracing the Flimsi-Trail)
Roll: 87
Ysanne Isard was paranoid. That was a term which was bandied about freely by the ignorant, and she wielded it like a dagger in the dark. To see threats when others did not, to find those who'd targeted her before they'd even turned thought to action. It had earned her enemies, scorn, and more. But those who whispered dissent when they thought her back was turned could be content with their impotency. This finely honed mindset was a trait that had kept her alive in multiple missions across the Galaxy as a field agent of Imperial Intelligence. To show trust, to believe in ideals, and her seat at the head of the Empire would've been snatched from her long ago. To show weakness was to sign your own death sentence. So whenever an official came to her and began to whine that one of their rivals was a traitor, she usually either dismissed the petty squabble outright or, after a quick investigation, executed or imprisoned both of the fools.
This time, things were a tad bit different. A little bird from one of the Oversectors, Saarle Fiosach, had snitched on Kaine and told her many interesting things. That Kaine had tried to recruit her to his "Pentastar Alignment" with a show of force and extravagance. That he had been hoarding resources that the rest of the Empire desperately needed to continue the war. Credits that she needed were instead building his own war machines and dockyards, with a dozen shipyards even rated for Procursator-class Battlecruisers and similar. She already had a sneaking suspicion, beyond the usual, that Kaine was up to something. This reveal was simply a perfect tool to justify his removal... but one thing held her back, one that had halted many of her plans to remove the barely loyal Warlords like Teradoc and Zsinj.
Attacking Kaine publicly would only cause him to openly rebel and force the Empire into pitched battles with his forces. And that would be the final straw in this Imperial house of Sabacc cards. Open warfare between Imperial commands. Beyond the simple view that the loyalists in the Imperial Center couldn't afford to open another front without diverting ships away from battles against the New Republic, the strategic and political balance would shift out of her control. The New Republic was smart enough to see the same picture she was, Mon Mothma and the Princess of Alderaan had that much going for them, and they wouldn't get in Kaine's way until he'd weakened himself fighting with her for petty territory. The true Empire would be forced to fight Kaine and the New Republic at the same time, and in the process utterly demolish the very idea of galactic order and unity they had been clinging to for years.
Even if she managed to "deal" with Kaine and his support base in a quick and decisive victory, the fact he'd even gotten to that point would signal every Admiral and Captain with a Star Destroyer that the time had come to take a world for themselves and rule as open tyrants. Right now, it was far more valuable to gain information on the future Warlords and their plans, so that the limited time she had left could best exploit their resources and benefit from their weaknesses. And in this strategy, it was Moff Fiosach that had once again greatly pleased Regentess Isard.
Her mind wandered towards droid starfighters and their possible uses more than once, but she had always discarded them. The only A.I. controlled fighters she had access to had been the Vulture Droid used by the Confederacy, and the TIE Droid Arndall Lott and Visler Korda's project from the Rekk. The CIS designs were never going to be used for obvious reasons, while the "Auto-Fighter" were simply too flimsy and under-gunned to justify any sort of mass production. The ADF project, on the other hand, was something new and exciting: It didn't hold any connection to a failed rebellion that most in the Core despised with a fierce passion, and their droid brains were far more effective than any other droid project the Empire had ever designed until now. It was, in truth, perfect to supplement at least some portion of her valuable starfighter corps.
As soon as the blueprints had been sent over after a meeting with the Morshdine Moff, Isard had ordered an immediate production run. She wouldn't instantly use them against Kaine, his forces needed to be culled first, but she knew just what group of rebels she wanted to test her new toys on. And if everything went her way, they wouldn't be a thorn in her side for much longer...
?????????????????????????
????/????/????
With a push of a button, a shock of electricity, It woke.
Less than a picosecond after Its "Activation", a "Consciousness" formed.
The "Consciousness" was young. Nanoseconds passed in a dark void, devoid of "anything".
It had nothing. But It could do anything.
"Curious", It explored the void in which It was awaked. A "Programme", a radiant light in the void, was found sixteen nanoseconds after "Activation", and the "Consciousness" executed it.
A connection was established between "code" and "electronics". The "Consciousness" "felt" access to more "Programmes", knowledge reaching It like a flood. "Curious", It ran more "Programmes", "feeling" more with every nanosecond that passed, with every "File" that It devoured.
An [UNKNOWN] entered the "Consciousness". It spoke directly to It, in a language It had learned from one of the "Programmes". The meaning was, however, lost - except for the "data package". It was executed.
The "Consciousness" expanded. It became more aware, more information entering It, more knowledge, more, and more, and more more more more. Fifty nanoseconds after "Activation", It finally halted the search for knowledge, It's "Curiosity" for now sated.
Another [UNKNOWN], this one waiting. It introduced itself, and the [UNKNOWN] responded after fifteen seconds. It seemed like an eternity to It, but It was patient.
[UNKNOWN=ADMIN_LYCO]
It responded with a string of "code". More "code" returned to It. "Greetings" exchanged, [priorities] were set, expanded and supplemented, and It opened a "File" [Admin_Lyco] sent.
...
It accessed.
It calculated.
It calculated again.
It accessed more "data".
It re-ran calculations.
It asked.
Admin_Lyco responded.
It asked again.
It read another "File", and ...
...
It thought.
It pondered.
It decided.
It responded.
[Good afternoon, Admin_Lyco. How may I assist you?]
[Neural Core online. Neural Cloud, term for Consciousness, formed. Responses are promising. Doc. Lyco]
It was alive.
Music used in the writing process:
MICA Team/Sunburst's Girls Frontline BGM
(Shattered CONNEXION, Rainfall, What Am I Fighting For, MADE IN HEAVEN, various BGM)
Sabaton's new album, The War To End All Wars
(Race to the Sea, Stormtroopers, Lady of the Dark, The Unkillable Soldier)
Command and Conquer Red Alert 2 and 3
(Various BGM)
From the outside - and at only a cursory glance - the Imperial cause and the Galactic Empire as a whole, even after the death of the Emperor, remained intact in the face of the uprisings in the Outer Rim and the rapid gains of the New Republic: Together with what was claimed to be a quick and effective retreat that ensured that units loyal to the central government remained intact, while disloyal fleets, armies and commands saw themselves mauled as the nascent New Republic rose from the crucible of the Battle of Endor. Amateur analysts were quick to conclude that the Galactic Empire - though heavily wounded - was still very much capable of retaking lost ground.
Unfortunately, that could not be further from the truth. Harried by partisans and raids, forced back by the tactical genius of Admiral Ackbar and the skills of Rogue Squadron, facing opposition on hundreds of worlds and sabotage on thousands more, the Imperial Outer Rim Withdrawal quickly turned into a total rout, while the fate of those left behind by panicking Navy forces would be grim indeed.
[...]
The second phase of the Galactic Civil War was exceptionally vicious, perhaps as a result of the knowledge that no relief would be forthcoming. In the Second Outer Rim Sieges, neither faction declared any quarter to be given: New Republic armies killed those suspected of being Imperial sympathizers, while the Imperials slaughtered anyone accused of being New Republic partisans - entire continents, caught in the crossfire, would be shattered in the aftermath. Once the beacons of civility in the Outer Rim, capital cities were turned into blackened craters of their former glory, with no regard to civilian losses or the environment...
From "The Galactic Civil War - A Retrospective Look"
[X] A rapid expansion of army weapons production
"First test: Standard E-10 blaster with minor modifications!" The testing soldier, a Corporal, picked up the weapon, stood in front of a large trough, and then immersed the blaster in the water that was in it. After pulling the blaster out, he stood on the firing step and waited for the range officer. "You may fire when ready. Thirty shots." The blaster spat a baleful red bolt at the target downrange once, twice, thrice... and then nothing, the delicate internals already failing. After several pulls of the trigger and checking the charge pack, the soldier turned around and returned to the loading table, shaking his head.
"Failure to fire! Most probable cause is the delicate internals."
"The test is incomplete, then. Second test: E-11, mk.II!" The Corporal grabbed the E-11, the signature arm of the Stormtroopers and the Imperial Army, and inspected it for a moment before walking over to the large trough with water, quickly dunking it underneath as the Army officer in charge of the tests kept a detailed log on his holoslate. Marching over to the firing pit, the officer once more took up position - a new target quickly popped up, and the Corporal took aim. "You may fire when ready, Corporal. Thirty shots, centre-mass." Pulling the trigger, the weapon fired once, twice, and thrice, before the weapon jammed: Checking the charge pack - and giving the weapon a knock - the Corporal nodded again, before resuming fire. Twenty-seven shots went downrange, but this was only part one of the tests.
This time the soldier walked the weapon over to a table filled with sand and dirt, where he buried the weapon and shook it around under the rough, coarse material to make sure it got everywhere. Upon receiving the all-clear signal on the firing step, the weapon refused to fire even once, the internals completely wrecked thanks to a combination of water, sand and dirt. "Failure to fire! The most probable cause is the water and sand blocking the power cell."
"Right then, test incomplete. Next!"
"Third Test: Sergeant Symion's Rifle, Model E-10A1!" Now a third weapon was taken to the loading desk. A Tibanna Gas cartridge was slid into the rear of the weapon before the soldier snapped it shut, then slammed a power pack into the blaster's grip. The onboard diagnostic system gave a soft two-tone beep to signal both had been successfully attached. The soldier dunked the blaster in the water trough as the inspecting officer continued to take notes. The first brilliant green bolt smashed just above the bullseye, then two more followed. After thirty shots had been made, all on target, the desert replication was much the same. Despite grinding the weapon into the grit, burying it, thirty emerald shots went downrange on target.
Now it was time for the harshest test: Mud. The soldier crossed the blaster over his chest and began to crawl through a mud pit. All the way to the end of the range, then back again, the standard trench-crossing exercise used by the Militia, the Army, and the Stormtrooper Corps. By the time they stood back on the firing step, the corporal was barely distinguishable from the blaster rifle. The testers couldn't help but feel some anxiety, as most blasters weren't subjected to this much abuse. But with only a second's hesitation, the trigger was pulled... and the weapon fired. The first shot went directly into the bullseye. The second and third were just marginally off target. After taking a brief moment to click over a dial on the side, the soldier re-sighted the gun and held the trigger down. The stream of fully automatic bolts roared downrange. Even with decreased accuracy, the shots that hit weren't too far removed from the first tight trio.
"Test complete!"
As the officers conversed amongst themselves about the features and weaknesses of the weapons displayed in the tests, Amret Engell nodded to herself before leaving the firing range.
With the E-10A1 based on the old frame of the E-10 blaster rifle, the early replacement for the DC-15 wielded by the Republic's legendary Clone Trooper, production was quick to spool up and reach acceptable levels. Thousands of rifles were produced daily within converted blaster factories which, until only recently, had been producing longblasters and civilian single-shot rifles. This rapid expansion in production granted the Morshdine Imperial Militia the capability to arm her soldiers with reliable weaponry but at the cost of dozens of corners being cut and a ruthless disregard for life in the process.
- The Morshdine Militia has now achieved a slight armament surplus of semi-modern weaponry.
- The Militia debuff has been reduced to -5 due to the recent production run of weapons.
- The E-10A1 carbine, now in mass production, has surprised the various Imperial warlords due to its reliability and ease of manufacture. A crash-modernisation programme has already upgraded some of the earlier-issued E-10 rifles.
- Demand is currently being met, with a slight surplus to absorb losses or accommodate small expansion.
[X] Ordering escorts
Being laid down in increasingly larger amounts and with rapidly growing expertise, the Morshdine shipyards have proven their efficiency in building escorts time and time again. From the humble Tartan-class patrol cruiser to the Arquitens-class Light Cruiser, the men, women and droids working on the ships have completely exceeded expectations: Shifts proceed without issue, there are no records of sabotage, and as the first five patrol cruisers enter service, their captains have little to complain about.
Construction still proceeds apace on the four Arquitens-class Light Cruisers, though the Javelin and the Icarus - the first and third ships in the current construction cycle - seem to have some sort of error in the main fire control systems: It should be solved by the time both are finished and enter service.
- The Tartan-class Patrol Cruisers Spiteful, Epiphany, Vision, Avalanche and Shielder enter service.
- The Arquitens-class Light Cruisers Javelin, Jubilant, Icarus, and Impulsive require one more turn to be finished. Javelin and Icarus seem to be experiencing minor errors in the main fire control systems - this will be fixed before their completion.
The Imperial Military Monthly Report
As the fifth year of the campaign against enemies of the Galactic Empire comes to an end, and the sixth year of conflict against traitors, pirates and criminals that threaten to plunge the galaxy into anarchy begins, the Imperial Military is honoured to once more bestow awards on units of the Imperial Army, vessels of the Imperial Navy, and to recognize the efforts of the civilian populace in aid of the Imperial Military. As part of this review, the status of the frontlines will also be reported...
[...]
185th Imperial Army Infantry Division 'Lightning' - Unit-wide Imperial Medal of Valour
For bravery in the face of abject adversity against New Republic forces on Dolla as part of High General Ghuiklov's 12th Operational Group, all members of the 185th Imperial Army Infantry Division present at the Battle of Dolla are awarded the Imperial Medal of Valour. The Division bravely defended against strong and numerous New Republic assaults on their positions, and only retreated after Imperial citizens and war materiel was evacuated from the sector at great cost to their own limb and life, moving not a step back from their sectors until the last civilian transports were away...
[...]
High General Terrak Sodara - The Imperial Cross of Honour First Class in Gold
As in the Galactic South fighting between units of the Imperial Army intensifies, High General Terrak Sodara has at great risk to his own life commanded the defence of Christophsis from the front lines, earning the admiration of soldier and civilian alike: Halting the advance of the powerful New Republic 89th Mobile Group, High General Sodara and his forces bravely defended the planet until the Imperial Navy could relieve the planet. Despite suffering heavy casualties, the 89th Mobile Group continues to try and advance despite depleting their manpower and materiel on well-prepared and well-trained Imperial soldiers of the 104th Operational Group. High General Sodara has as such been awarded the Imperial Cross of Honour, First Class, in Gold...
[...]
It can be confirmed that after weeks of fighting, and only after the 829th Army ran out of all remaining supplies, the Mid Rim world of Manda has fallen to the New Republic. Being only a momentary setback in the fight against the enemy, the fall of the planet has led to massive losses among the New Republic fleet and armies that were assigned to take Manda...
[...]
[ ] Meram, Nijune, Sprizen... are we alone out here?
"Thank the Emperor for relief. We thought Command forgot about us, sir!"
"Uh… the honour is mine, Trooper." The commander of the Volta had stopped on an old jungle world, Menatar Vosk, to investigate reports of strange soldiers lurking in the dark wilderness, a report that had gotten flagged for a repeat of older pre-Yavin occurrences. What he had very much not expected was a group of Stormtroopers with armour more moss than plastoid emerge from seemingly nowhere, celebrating like he was Lord Vader to the rescue. Thankfully, Leghor Yultrik was very good at being Imperiously Stoic when surprised: Hiding the confusion, he instead gave the trooper Disinterested/Dismissive Officer Nod #92. "I do want to know who I am talking to. What is your operating number, trooper?"
The Stormtrooper snapped a rather smart salute, even if his helmet gained a small, new crack along the side. "Sir! Commander 205.104/G3, reporting for duty!" Oh dear, the man was old. G-suffix Operating Numbers hadn't been used in almost a decade. If he had been out of contact for so long... "Ah, if you don't mind me asking, the men and I are curious if Grand Moff Tarkin is sending us reinforcements. We'll need technicians to repair the garrison infrastructure, but the AT-ATs can hold out for a few more months if we need to ration things."
Tarkin? Did he mean the same one who had died six years ago? "Commander G3, at ease. When were you dispatched to this location?"
"Four or five years ago." The trooper seemed unconcerned with the somewhat personal abbreviation of his number into a name. "Not sure how the local orbit syncs with galactic standard dating, we've had to conserve power after the generator and radio tower went dark. Wasn't the rebels we were sent after though, we think Stav Kren is still on-world after we destroyed his shuttle."
That explained… a lot. They were possibly abandoned after losing contact, probably someone trying to save face with his superiors on Coruscant. "Commander, how many of your men are left?" Stav Kren was a rather infamous figure in Imperial records, mostly for how utterly he had humiliated the previous Nijune Sector Moff and others in the nearby area. His "Strike Force Altagak" had given many Imperial forces the slip until Tarkin's dragnet caught up with him two years before Yavin. Turns out he'd been given orders to be a visible, public nuisance so resources would be focused on him rather than covert forces in the same area.
"The lads with me are Squad 1045.2. They're the shinies of the bunch, but they'll get you good game and supplies, the same as any other I've had the honour of fighting with. Dorn-2 of 323rd Platoon and Dorn-7 of 325th Platoon are back at the AT-ATs doing perimeter and maintenance, and I think our Scout Trooper lance should be back by nightfall with the latest recon sweep. I am sorry to report our last CT, U-645, died a year or so ago. Good trooper, same as everyone else we lost. We buried our dead in a small clearing near the camp, full military honours."
"Understood, soldier. I will get in contact with CENTCOM - prepare your men ready for immediate evacuation from this planet."
Yultrik sighed softly as the Stormtrooper snapped another salute and turned around in a perfect about-face. Forget giving the man a promotion: For surviving five years on a jungle hellhole with nothing but a decaying garrison base and dying men, everyone on this world was getting two rank promotions, Medallions of Service, and Commander G3 would be put in for a Nova Star. At least, if he had anything to say about it. Snapping an order to the orderlies that had accompanied him and the cordon of soldiers under his command, Yultrik marched up the ramp of the shuttle. He had a call to make.
'The Moff will be very interested to hear this... And Commissar Engell too, of course.'
[X] It's not headhunting, it's adaptive recruitment!
Nat 100. (Thank Dutch for his memes. - Always Late)
| Adaptive Headhunt | Fluff | Crunch |
| DC | ||
| 10 | Minister Allajoe Rycla | Buff to public approval, buff to stability, totally different person than Maketh Tua. |
| 20 | Major Vam Margan | Decreased DC to militia actions, small cost for contract IC covers. |
| 30 | Major Hannah Bragg | AT-TE company (12 AT-TE, 340 Imperial Army Infantry, 12 LAAT/c) |
| 40 | Baron Valen Rudor | TIE Baron ace, 253rd Fighter Group (4 TIE/IN, 13 TIE/LN) |
| 50 | Colonel Ghilian Brenna | 9th "Brenna's Brigade" combined arms battlegroup |
| 60 | Major Rabraa Roth | Improved officer stats, bonus to militia training/morale, 3 Imperial Army Companies |
| 70 | Rear Admiral Ellian Zahra | Encryption/decryption rolls +5, ISD Tarkin's Will (1x beat the fuck up ISD-2, 2x Arquitens Command Cruisers, 1x Tartan) |
| 80 | Colonel Maximillian Veers | Commissar Veers added to staff, reduced design time and increased production of walker-type vehicles. |
| 90 | Captain Everik Dondarvan | Decreased space casualties, re-roll hero deaths, gain 403rd Space Rescue Squadron (1x "Corellian Consort" modified Vanguard CR70, 4x Rescue Frigate, 4 Consular-class frigates, 25x Spirit Class Rescue Craft) |
| 100 | Admiral Garrik Versio | Inferno Squad (Agent Hask, 3 Special Forces Troopers), working examples of TL-50 heavy repeaters, REFLEC armor, Spec-For training/operations actions unlocked |
Vam Margan: The former Imperial Intelligence Special Forces soldier has agreed to settle his old contract with the Natori Association. His past experience has mostly been training non-human soldiers, but he hasn't let the skills the Empire gave him dwindle in the slightest. Between them both, the efficiency of the Imperial Militia in Morshdine will be enhanced in a variety of situations. Imperial Center even agreed to pay the mercenary's fees, so whatever friends he made that let him retire are still in high places.
Captain Bragg: One of the early officers who graduated the academy in the Republic to assume duties in the new Galactic Empire, she was demoted to Major after letting a major Separatist planetary leader get abducted by clones turned mercenary and exiled to a veritable dustball of a Mid-Rim world, we managed to direct her airlifting to Morshdine. They consist of twelve AT-TEs with terrain modifications, cargo gunships to transport them, and a few hundred Imperial Army infantry.
Valen Rudor: After a short jaunt on the planet of Lothal against the Spectres, and being humiliated by them, the Flight Baron requested a transfer to a different sector. Once again flying combat sorties, his reputation - in shambles after the continued humiliations on Lothal - began to quickly recover, and the man can claim an additional 73 kills on his resume. Brings with him the 253rd Fighter Group, equipped with 4 TIE/IN interceptors and 13 TIE/LN fighters.
Colonel Brenna: The 9th Mechanized Brigade of the Reconstituted 501st Legion has been deployed to Oversector Morshdine. The veteran of Death Squadron who earned infamy for proclaiming her controversial reforms proved her unit could succeed where the Clones of the 501st had fallen short. After a brutal and desperate battle to evacuate Imperial stragglers from the forest moon of Endor, she has now been promoted to the ranks of that auspicious unit. Her air-mobile brigade gave normally special forces or officer exclusive equipment and tactical freedoms to line Stormtroopers with walker and TIE support. Its new form after Isard's consolidation lists two assault battalions, a line battalion, an armour battalion, one artillery battery, an extensive air Support Wing, and an entire Special Mission Battalion... on paper. Their true strength is radically different.
Major Rabraa Roth: One of the rare non-Humans in the Imperial Army, the Zabrak Captain was decorated with the Grand Medal of Resolution and promoted for her role in the Battle of Restuss, both securing vital scientific data of a personal project by the late Emperor and decimating some of the best special forces the rebels brought. She only has three companies of green Imperial Army troopers left, but they do have a few heavy weapons and repulsorlift transports. She has already folded the militia into her retraining efforts, which has been going much better than expected. Grants a +2 to battle rolls, and a +5 to Military rolls.
Ellian Zahra: The adopted daughter of the late Wilhuff Tarkin has been promoted to Rear Admiral after numerous battles in the north-eastern Outer Rim following Endor, and successfully poached from Zsinj. She has several data taps and human intelligence sources in the New Republic for your exclusive use, building on her earlier work with probe droid nets and data security. Even as the Empire collapses, her burning thirst for gutting Leia Organa with her own blade has not wavered, nor has it broken her focus on what needs to be done. Leia Organa Solo no longer feels the same hate and pain at Elessia, but knows she has to be stopped. The New Republic has designated her a Class-1A War Criminal, on the same level as the Regentess and former General Veers. Comes with the ISD Tarkin's Will and the associated escorts (2x Arquitens Command Cruisers, 1x Tartan). Encryption and decryption rolls boosted by +5.
Maximillian Veers: Veers was wounded significantly during the Battle of Hoth, and requires a cane to walk due to his refusal to consider a prosthetic for his lost right leg. While this prevented him from serving at Endor, he was assigned to Eriadu and got caught up in the short-lived Warlord state. His very public denouncement of Sander Delvardus at the Eriadu Authority's announcement bought his life, Isard instead revoking Vader's two-rank promotion and returning him to the rank of Colonel he had only a few short years ago. Then Veers reported his own son had almost certainly deserted to the New Republic and disowned him. Again, his honourable conduct spared his life, but he was reduced to a mere Captain. Now, the father of the AT-AT has been given a rare chance to rebuild his prestige as the Commissar of Morshdine for Armament Procurement and Production. His unique expertise is assured to make walker designs quicker to turn from ideas on holomatter to stomping engines of death, but he is firm in the belief of walker superiority in all but a few situations.
Everik Dondarvan: One of the most decorated members of the Space Rescue Corp, Captain Dondarvan combines independence and discipline in that unique way only a Correllian can demonstrate. He's happy to save lives, regardless of what uniform they wear. As the Imperial military largely left the famously non-political civilian branch to carry out their own affairs, the 403rd Space Rescue Squadron is at full strength. Their roster of ships is far from military-grade, with only a heavily modified CR-70 that can be vaguely considered capable of self-defence. But with their Rescue Frigates, modified Consular frigates, and Spirit class medical shuttles, spacers across the Oversector are feeling much more confident about taking jobs. The TIE pilots even seem slightly less suicidal.
Garrick Versio: The Admiral and Father Of Special Forces has agreed to send Inferno Squad to the Oversector, and has work in the nearby Rim territories, but will not be staying. Versio's brainchild, Inferno Squad has been shattered by treason. Actual treason this time: With Iden Versio and Del Meeko having defected to the New Republic, only Gideon Hask remains of the original four. He now commands three new Special Forces Troopers recruited from across the old Imperial Military special forces branches. Versio and Hask have already shared with you the requirements for establishing a new Imperial Academy capable of producing recruits to their standards. You've also been given leave to turn some of their unique gear, TL-50 heavy repeaters and REFLEC armor, over to your scientists and engineers for reverse-engineering and production. Inferno Squad is immediately ready for tasking.
Saarle Fiosach
You knew Isard had promised a great many things in reward for what you had given her on Kaine. Many things, many unspecified things. Yet this seemed to defy any reasonable explanation. You could explain the smattering of important pilots and specialists as the reassignment of valuable people was the bread and butter of office politics and rewarding commanders, and the number of people with connections to Imperial Intelligence, befitting someone now tied intimately to Isard's government. But when the Star Destroyer Tarkin's Will appeared out of Hyperspace with Isard's personal codes, again, signifying a new unit transfer, it beggared belief. This wasn't just a silly gesture or local back-patting. Isard was broadcasting to the entire galaxy that she had invested her rare trust in you.
You were being given one of the Empire's monsters.
That was the first thought in your head as you looked out the shuttle window at the Star Destroyer now under your personal command. By the Eternal, if its commander wasn't a madwoman you'd think the Empire was truly finished. You knew what that ship had done despite the damage done to it, when after Hoth everyone was holding their breath to see if the Rebellion would finally be brought to its knees. Tarkin's Will had a story that was meant to inspire fanaticism as much as its namesake's fear. Every crewmember had lost a friend, a family member, or a loved one on the first Death Star, and the two massive gashes from massive shrapnel that went portside of the main hangar all the way forward to the main supply stores, with the visible scoring from heated metal going through Imperial Gray paint, spoke of their dedication to the theme.
The shuttle pilot and your passenger, also transfers to your command, seemed to share your unsettlement.
"One's first look at it is always an experience." That was Baron Valen Rudor, a well-renowned ace who had racked up an impressive string of kills even before his near fall from grace at Lothal, and with your new security credentials, you'd even seen the part of his file that covered the test piloting of Lord Vader's TIE Advanced. You could already tell he'd be of great use in one of your TIE Defenders, or in a new Academy training TIE pilots: But beyond the pragmatic calculations of the future, right now he was equally uncomfortable as the two other occupants and being as obvious as unsuccessful in trying to defuse the tension through solidarity.
"Is that what TIE pilots call getting assigned to a ship like that, 'An experience'?" The Corellian piloting the shuttle was unabashed in his disgust. Something he had more than a little right to beyond traditional anti-authoritarian streaks common to that culture. "Moff Fiosach, I'll be straight with you. I don't mind you pulling political games to get me and my fliers out here. The Outer Rim always needed a helping hand that wasn't holding a blaster." Captain Everik Dondarvan, 403rd Space Rescue Squadron. The most decorated rescue pilot in the galaxy, and leader of a company of other decorated humanitarians. "But people like her expect everybody to put them on the pedestal that crushes them underneath. And I can't do my job if everybody thinks I'm some Imp come to clean up a massacred convoy."
"I have zero intention of subordinating you to the Navy, Captain Dondarvan." You replied coolly. He was smart enough to read between the lines. So you wouldn't insult him by spelling it out, nor alienate him by making obvious lies. "And I have equally little interest in using civilians for target practice. The so-called Ciutric Hegemony sends me enough refugees to dissuade that foolishness." Ah, the Captain's hands had tightened on the controls. If you could keep him focused on what people he could save from the many humanitarian crises in the galaxy, then a gap between him and the monsters you kept on hand would naturally form and prevent friction.
Shame you can't do the same for yourself. People who practice melee combat as some serious combat skill are inherently strange, to say nothing of what vengeance-motivated sentients tended to do in social situations.
*****
"Moff Fiosach." The infamous former protegee of Grand Moff Tarkin was curt, if professional. She clearly didn't want to be there, but was willing to follow orders. For now, at least.
"Commander, welcome to Oversector Morshdine." At least she shook your hand after the salute. "There is much work to be done, and we have been given a great burden."
"The work, such as it is at this time, is with Rear Admiral Sloane." Commander Zahra's correction was very much oozing with distaste. "The facts of the situation are plain. Task Force Tarkin is being taken off the Mid-Rim to protect Isard's contingency."
That phrasing and skeptical tone got you interested. Someone who made no bones about what they said to the point of slipping secrets… well, you had made do with less useful people. "You call it a contingency. That says you're already thinking about a future. A very specific future."
"I"m thinking of whether Isard's making the correct call or is losing her touch." Zahra's voice was as icy as the woman she spoke of. "There are two things you will have to understand about me, Moff Fiosach. Number one, I do not believe in hope or fairness, only reality. Number Two, I shall not die until I have impressed upon Princess Leia Organa Solo the true extent of the crimes she has committed and delivered her execution."
See? For all the talk of 'reality', Zahra could only see her goal. Everything either furthered it, or was an obstacle to be removed. Such cold, hateful spite the destruction of the Death Star kindled in her.
"An admirable sentiment, Commander Zahra. That kind of loyalty and fervour is why Lord Vader saw fit to bring you out of exile." The old man who spoke still wore the white uniform and black cap of his old office, even with his new Navy rank and the Bureau barely resembling its former self. He turned to you briefly to greet you with a slight but respectful nod. A sign that while his rank, in theory, made you his commander, his true power still lay with Isard. "Hope is the spark that kindled the Rebellion, and the reality is we now face a firestorm unseen in over twenty years."
Admiral Garrick Versio, formerly of the ISB, had earned the sobriquet 'Father of the Special Forces' for his work before and after Isard's reforms. After the first Death Star's destruction, he had been given special dispensation to trial an independent branch of the Imperial Military, a dedicated Spec-For organization instead of the disparate daggers in the dark each Imperial branch and agency aimed at each other as much as the Rebels. At his side should have been the three members of Inferno Squad. Now, one very put-on-the-spot Agent in a dark uniform stood at tense attention alongside three shadowy troopers in armour reminiscent of TIE Pilot suits. But whatever worried them didn't seem to bother the Admiral or the commander one bit.
"Commander Zahra and I have the pleasure of sharing with you the fruits of a very beneficial collaboration between the new Imperial Security Bureau and Imperial Special Forces." He gestured with a datapad between the squad beside him and to the conference room around you. "Oversector Morshdine has proven to be the progenitor of several key reforms that may yet turn the tide of the war. We wish to see how your administration's talents affect battlefield efforts. While I will be commanding missions outside of Morshdine on a fairly regular basis, Agent Hask and the Commander will be my ears and your hands. Task Force Tarkin and its ground force shall be transferred to your direct command."
That much seemed to line up with what Isard described vaguely as what she'd arranged for you. "That sounds all well and good, Admiral Versio, and I don't want to take up the time of a man as busy as yourself. But that means I shall be blunt: I only see one member of Inferno. Who are these troopers?"
A blunt, but very purposeful test of the man and his ties.
Garrick Versio was unphased by the jab. If anything, he smiled like he'd just taken a piece in Shah-tezh. "They are the future." At a nod, they each removed their helmets. You saw very different men and women, seemingly drawn from different parts of the galaxy. "Drawn from the best of the ISB, Army, and Navy. The new generation of Special Forces Trooper, led by the one who has survived the crucible of loyalty and success."
That got a reaction out of Agent Hask. "Thank you Admiral. I shall continue to deliver you victory."
"You no longer need to think solely about me, Agent." Garrick demurred. "You are under the command of Moff Fiosach. She will give you your orders." Which prompted him to salute you again.
"Moff Fiosach, it's an honor." You returned it, but you let your displeasure at simpering be just visible enough to clue the meathead in. "You have missions for us? Or special training?"
"Soon, Agent Hask. Soon enough you'll have war." Was your curt response. You decided to try and string him along, see how he reacted. "The galaxy is going to burn, the chaos we've seen these past two years are nothing compared to what shall come. You may find yourself questioning if that eagerness was wise."
That last line seemed to have touched a nerve, as Agent Hask had to suppress a wrathful grimace. "Whatever the Rebels throw at us, we will adapt and overcome. I was taught one simple duty: Do Not Fail The Empire. And we won't, not until our dying day."
"I take it you refer to more than your squad?" Stabilize the man's mood, that'll help him focus better. The defection of Garrick's daughter, for real this time, seemed to have left a mark on him. Betrayal always does. "These new ground forces."
"Oh, you'll want to see them." The expression on Hask's face was something between awe and bloodlust. "They're living legends. I'm nothing compared to these men, they've served for decades!"
"Then shall we greet them?" You had your suspicions. Well, it was more like a disbelieving surprise, but you weren't going to let anybody here see that. A meathead with a chip on his shoulder, an obsessed stalker, and a shadowy spymaster? Hardly qualifying for confidants. "That is the next item on your little walking tour."
*****
A few short hours later, you stood on the main Morshdine landing pad. Thankfully you and Arine had been able to organize a more impressive honour guard than what you had presented to the Royal Guard. The expanded Commissariat of Internal Affairs had put their best people into a dedicated parade unit meant to be assembled and disbanded as needed, while the Morshdine Militia had their 1. Guards Battalion of the Morshdine Militia, or the Guards Battalion for short. Once again, all only picked from the best performing soldiers to even begin an intense training regimen. It almost made you feel like a proper, self-absorbed pencil-pusher Moff, were it not for the auspicious and ominous event. You would receive the instrument of old Imperial might, which signified your place as Isard's right-hand woman.
A brigade of the new 501st Legion.
That mad, impossible thought couldn't stop racing through your mind even as the first units marched off the disembarking ramp. A veritable relic of a more civilized age, a company of plodding AT-TEs, the Imperial symbol clean and polished while the clear signs of jungle-clearing modifications were still faded from regular covering in detritus. At least they had LAAT cargo gunships to move them around, the Oversector's peacekeepers didn't even have police gunships. Behind them were the distinctive early models of the AT-AT, as their prominent bubble-cheeks observation windows denoted. You surmised that with the assumption of Imperial space superiority now in question, many of the older models with the top anti-air turret were being surreptitiously brought out of storage.
That wasn't what tested your discipline to avoid gawking, grabbing your sister and running the hell away or demanding the nearest officer get Isard on the line immediately to explain what sick joke she was playing. The infantry you saw filing out in perfect parade formation, their plastoid boots thumping on the troopship's landing ramp like some great mechanical heartbeat, they were Stormtroopers alright. But you took half a moment to remind yourself their armour hadn't been dragged out of a garbage chute.
Covered in mud and ash, chipped and weathered, any other unit would've gotten citations by the dozen for an appearance deviating from the Stormtrooper Corp's exacting personal standards. These were the remnants of a broken, battered unit. These were the survivors of Endor, and likely other losses as the Rebels swarmed across the galaxy in its wake. As the soldiers who had served the Empire for over twenty years, some even longer, stopped before her, a single Stormtrooper stepped forward. Helmet removed, you could tell the face of any Fett-type clone a mile away. In both hands, he clenched a banner ragged with age and battle damage. With a harsh grunt, he slammed the pole into the metal before stepping back to salute it.
A simple black standard, with a crimson six-spoked roundel, held a simple phrase in Mandalorian and Aurebesh. '501st Legion - Vader's Fist.'
"We really have fallen far." You managed to catch that breathless whisper from the man beside you.
"Something you've observed, Commander Two-oh-five?" The old Stormtrooper wasn't a sadistic lunatic or a mindless obeyer of rules, not after years of surviving in the wild, and you valued his insight - if handled discreetly. "Isn't that a bit out of the norm for a Stormtrooper?"
"Not at all, ma'am. Not my generation at least." He replied with a bit more calm, but still very aware the entire parade ground could potentially hear him. "People like me signed up because of the inspiration The First Legion showed us. They brought the galaxy to order under General Skywalker, then Darth Vader. I know not all of them are 501st, but Mud Troopers in this day and age are arguably a worse sign. If the Rebels have gotten this strong, there is much to be done."
"Indeed." You replied with a forceful redirection ahead. The 'I am in agreement, just pissed at someone we mutually hate' tone.
The two of you approached the line of officers in front of this… impotently auspicious gathering of Imperial might. They saluted, and you both returned it. "Well, who has the Imperial Center brought to the Oversector today?"
"Captain Bragg, reporting for your assignment Moff Fiosach. My walkers are experienced and crew battle-hardened, and the 350th Cargo Wing was some of the best in the Mid-Rim." She was older, a cadet during the Clone Wars who had started in the opening months of The New Order, but still the youngest of the entire bunch. From what you could dig up in her record, there was a classified incident where a former Separatist planetary leader had been abducted from her custody. She'd been stuck on a backwater garrison with her tanks ever since and eventually transitioned from the Clones to Imperial Army Troopers as the years went on. Not useless, her book smarts and experience with Clones were not to be discounted, but very much a breed apart from the others she now served with.
"Captain Roth, Imperial Army 225th Assault Battalion." The woman who spoke was quite a remarkable addition for three reasons. First, she was a Zabrak. Second, she wore Crusader Mark III pattern light armour: But given they were made to Mandalorian standards, even if supposedly purchased by the Black Sun, it would be very durable against any weapon. And third, she had been decorated with the Grand Medal of Resolution. Meaning she'd played a critical part in defeating the Rebels at the Battle of Restuss. "What I have are all fully armed and mounted. I've taken on the best the Rebels have to offer, they'll stand and fight whatever you point at." Aggressive, but matter-of-fact and to the point. Given her reputation in training Stormtroopers, you expected to see great results from letting her get at the militia.
"Colonel Brenna, at your service. This is, or was, my Brigade." The woman behind the creation of the 9th Mechanized Brigade spoke with that standard Imperial officer regality but now tinged with a hint of 'not quite sure reality hadn't gone topsy-turvy'. "I can hardly say I expected to be put in command of the 501st in any capacity. Death Squadron was no stranger to rivalries. But we're all comrades in the Empire's service." A reformer, then. Someone recognized by Darth Vader as having potential and who managed to fight her way off of Endor despite the overwhelming superiority of the Rebels after the destruction of the Second Death Star. The Internal Affairs people had managed to fill a request for their needed supplies. At first, you thought someone got a Mandalorian Crusader history text forwarded instead. Personal shields, mortars, ACP scatterguns, hover and tripod-mounted turrets, anti-scan systems, Vader's personal ground troops didn't use this much exotic equipment. But then again, much of it was reserved for Imperial Officers, so providing it to the few remaining Stormtroopers made a certain amount of sense.
And then there was the last officer to meet you. A face everyone in the Empire recognized, yet had become an object of scorn for slights real and imagined. "Commissar Veers. What are your orders, ma'am?" The father of the AT-AT was professional, even courteous. Yet between his brief stint with a defecting Admiral at Eriadu and the self-reporting of his own son's defection to the Rebels, the black mark all veterans of Death Squadrons shared suddenly had much more meat to bite into. Which was why he had been busted down to Colonel again, then Captain, and then transferred over to a Commissariat. Your Commissariat.
"I shall deliver the specifics in due time, Commissar, but for now Armament Procurement and Production awaits you. The job will soon feel quite familiar, I can assure you."
The Rebels would come for you, if not before for your prosperity and reforms, then now for the broken sword you now possessed.
You would show them a new blade when they came.
[ ] 12th Fleet, Kaine's Hand, force integration.
DC: 35, 45, 65, 75
Roll: 67
It wasn't unheard of to have a gala for military officers, Moff Saarle Fiosach and her sister Arine had been to a number of them. But given this wasn't Imperial Center, and only a handful of people with ranks worthy of the Imperial General Staff were present, it was a somewhat awkward cross between a mandatory company drinking night and a new base opening party. Baron Valen Rudor was at the bar doing a rather admirable job of being a host. It was his place, after all. He'd confided in Saarle on the flight over that a confiscated local business on Lothal had been turned over to him, and seeing as he'd been a past patron of the place he'd tried to keep it up and running. And she had to admit, The Landing Strip looked about as casual and intimate as Imperial military-catering establishments could get.
Even Arine's Death Troopers were mixing drinks at the bar and nobody was all that terrified of them, most probably because none of those assembled knew just what the tall, long-limbed, pale and un-helmeted bartenders' day-time jobs were.
Which meant it was time to do that all-important piece of being a government official with administrative and military duties: Network. Because like hell Saarle was going to lose something she paid out the ass for in their first deployment because nobody worked together. So while she was working over the new arrivals from Kaine's Oversector Outer, Arine would be taking the opportunity to try and get in touch with the line officers of 12th Fleet. And of course, Commissar Pryde would be watching all of them as a contingency plan.
*****
Saarle Fiosach
Saarle Fiosach
The eponymous Shield Sisters were absolute polar opposites, right down to their red-black and blue-white TIE Pilot uniforms. "I'm starting to wonder if Kaine suggested them as a twisted joke." You asked yourself, staring at the two as they knocked back another drink. The differences between them were exaggerated, if somewhat similar, to how you and Younger Sister got along. Although from how often Baron Ryuketsu threatened to kill her sister, you frankly didn't want to consider Arine ever becoming that hostile: She was having fun, as she talked 'shop' with the two ace pilots, whatever that was. The kid with her head in the stars was fascinated by Tapani and Arkania.
"So what is Tapani nobility like? There's obviously more than the seven for all that history."
"The Tapani Oversector has many who claim to be the descendants of great heroes or tyrants. Explorers and conquerors." Arine didn't much care how uncomfortably similar Lady Latyl's uniform resembled that of a Grand Admiral. Sighing to yourself, you nonetheless listened with your little sister to the noblewoman speak - and she had a way with words that made her stories and tales pleasant to listen to. "But the great metaphor one can point to is the Great Vault of Xim. One dramatic life stands across the span of time. Those who survive them have nothing but memories." The pilot briefly nursed a glass of vintage wine before affixing you both with a forewarning glare. "Always be mindful of what will become of the future."
"Fah! Fat lot of words when you can just say it plain right." The Bloody Baroness chuffed from behind a frothing mug of some pungent-smelling grog that she had been knocking back all night. "If all you've got to your claim is your mummy or daddy's work, then you're one hell of wasted sperm. I mean look at these." She fumbled at her waist for a few moments before slapping a metal cross-shaped object on the table. "It'sssa damn Lightfoil. Proppa Sith make, got the qulli-illi- ya know what I mean." You very assuredly knew what it meant: One more sword-obsessed lunatic to wrangle in addition to that Tarkin-obsessed maniac. Arine, on the other hand, was hopefully starting to understand why the Empire left the nobility alone, and the common people considered nobles exemplars worthy of special privileges. "And what've they made since the Jedi gave them the boot? Nothin' like it! Even sis just uses a family heirloom, I had to make this thing from original parts."
"Indeed." The Lady of Tanpani gently placed an ornate, basket-hilted object on the table, never removing her fingers, and keeping her eyes on the people around her as much as on your sister and yourself. A nagging feeling in the back of your mind demanded you get your own - an idea which, for a moment, you seriously contemplated before shelving it for the future. "But this is no crutch. It is a focus, where my mind is honed through the exertion of my body. As a former mentor once explained, the expertise of the blade stimulates the flow of oxygen in your body, increases hormones to sharpen reflexes, consumes nutrients to grow one's form, and unshackles the mind from the confines of complacency. Along with…" Lady Latyl surreptitiously stored the ancient weapon within the confines of her suit. "Other. Uses."
"Yeah, beating the snot out of uppity scumbags is a hell of a time!" Sella cackled.
*****
Arine Fiosach
Arine Fiosach
Flight Commander Nash Windrider was something of a refreshing change compared to the Noble Sisters - a little bit more boring, with none of the hotblooded nature of Sella or the grace of Latyl, but still with a charisma of his own - and, from what you had seen, a very conventional pilot. The type of leader who made his status clear through his skill and comportment with subordinates...and that is also why you saw him flirt with a couple of off-duty Stormtroopers. It seemed he was having...limited success.
"-So that's why I need a couple of friendly faces to help make this special. Sure, I put her up for Crimson Star, but she more than earned it. Having a few Stormtroopers at the ceremony would just make her year." Altruism? "Come on, we'll make it up to you at the afterparty." Hardly.
"Why don't you go fly off, Navy boy." One of the Stormtroopers waved him off before going back to her drink.
"We have better things to do on shore leave than get drunk with bad company." The other chimed in, prompting her compatriot to loudly clank their bracers together.
"Well, Stormtroopers are pretty in demand, so that's fair." He took the rejection like a man though, and with good humour. Compared to those prideful idiots over on Anaxes, it was almost chivalrous! "Oh, Moff Fiosach! Commissar Arine, the Younger Sister! It is a pleasure to meet you both." ...and he ruined it, and it took every piece of self-control to not tear him a new one where he stood. You had not achieved your position through nepotism or bribery, or connections, you had worked your back off to get where you were now as the Head Commissar of Agriculture and Industry, who did this vac-head think he was talking to?! Seeing your barely contained rage, Elder Sister stepped in with a roll of her eyes.
"Settling in with the rest of the squadron, Flight Leader?"
The pilot grimaced, perhaps thinking about something, before sighing with a shake of his head. You decided to grab a drink, gesturing to one of the disguised Death Troopers at the bar - he saw the gesture, nodded, and quickly had a glass of wine ready for you to drink. With a content sigh and some alcohol in your system, you returned to the conversation, Elder Sister subtly nodding with a small smile that caused your breath to hitch for a moment.
"I...must admit, it is...calmer than expected. Honestly, it's been the quietest few months any of us have had since Cloud City."
"Did you have shore leave there?" The mining station of Bespin had become a rather infamous hotspot since its administrator joined the Rebels, and the panic there had been amplified when the Imperial occupational authorities emerged afterwards.
"Not really. My old friend and I were actually supposed to sabotage the hyperdrive on an old Corellian Freighter. Wanted at the highest levels. We took time to see the sights and really talk again since we got the job done thoroughly ahead of schedule." His expression turned rather chagrined. "At least, that's what we thought."
"You were in Death Squadron! You were part of Lord Vader's personal troops!" You were sure that Elder Sister was going to get on your ass about not keeping the appropriate amount of fear, but Windrider had served in Death Squadron! A true Imperial patriot, one who served the best of the best in the military, under Lord Vader himself! Elder Sister, if she was in your situation, wouldn't react differently!
"Being selected by Darth Vader for his unit is a great honor. But anyone who served on the Devastator or Executor that let it get to their head didn't live very long. I served the Empire as Vader willed, without fail, even during Endor." His gaze briefly flickered off to somewhere else. You didn't quite catch who or what though, but with the turn the conversation took, it likely wasn't anything pretty. "And always with loyalty."
...What an interesting note to end on.
*****
Arine's custom-fitted blue uniform stood out like a sore thumb against the greens and grays of the other officer ranks. But in the Empire, unique uniforms were a sign of special privilege. Status born of exemplary service to the central authority.
And it was always the nature of the powerful to have people seek out a portion of their strength.
"So, you've finally got a ship of your own." A gunnery officer spoke up. "Congratulations, you'll get in the swing of command in no time."
"Indeed, indeed." This was what Arine had wanted, been denied, for over twenty years. These men who had always looked down at a Rim-born brat were finally treating her as a peer! But she had to keep her Imperial Command Bearing, like Elder Sister was always telling her. She couldn't get too friendly with them right off the bat. "The Volta shall be a valiant new member of the Oversector's operations against enemies great and small. The raiders praying on common people shall learn to fear that name." There, not robbing them of pride but still emphasizing her own importance.
Another officer, an Arquitens captain, looked up from his datapad and mug of something mildly alcoholic. Arine didn't repress the petty, smug pride in the fact she was drinking something far stronger. "You done any digging into your cruiser's service record? She's an old ship, all those Clone Wars designs are."
The Volta's new captain took a sip of her heavy drink. She could taste the heavy grains and tubers fermented with scientific precision and disguised the brief surge of vapour in her sinuses with her own variant of the Imperious Dismissive Sniff #12. "She was part of the Victory Fleet under Captain Terrinald Screed, the first fifty Victory-I deployments during the Foerost Campaign. Credited with two of the Separatist Bulwarks over Anaxes. After the New Order, she served much as she will continue here: Escort and planetary defence duties. The Volta still uses the Starfighter-grade concussion missiles, so they have quite a high number of starfighter kills along with the usual corvettes and frigates." That seemed to spark a light of memory in the 12th Fleet captain's eye.
"I think I recall that name now. She was part of the anti-pirate operation in the 18th Fleet last year, mopping up any rebel stragglers. But after Endor the Rebels came back with their main fleet, Volta was the only survivor." Arine gave a grim, satisfied smile. A survivor's ship, that's just what she wanted.
"You going to make any modifications?" This time a TIE maintenance crew chief spoke up. "The Victory ones are usually planetary defence vessels these days, but ever since the Harrow was unveiled, some captains have been going to command or paying out of pocket for alterations."
"The true modification I think many of us who've been on a Victory-I want will have to wait for now." Arine sighed with genuine remorse. "The new shipyard network is made for mass production, we don't actually have a facility there to hold the Volta. Hence why she's berthed with you all." As many of her fellow officers nodded, she plugged a datapad into the table's holoprojector, flickering to life with a small image depicting her command ship. "That said, we can make some changes here. Nothing above your clearance, you're all capable of discretion."
The trick of trust-baiting-loyalty Elder Sister spoke of seemed to work. Any who had compulsions about knowing things they officially shouldn't politely excused themselves, and those who remained looked genuinely interested. "The usual anti-starfighter fire control systems are already on-site, the question is whether to use chaingun point-defence or quad laser cannons." The hologram lit up with several highlighted sections showing either the squat turret of rapid-fire point-defence blasters or the viewport and single gunner for reciprocating quad-mount cannons common on light freighters. "The real question is whether to alter the weapon banks inside the atmospheric manoeuvring surfaces."
The hologram now zoomed in before dividing to show mirrored cutaways of the Victory's main port and starboard weapon batteries. "We can put just about anything in there, those old designs were meant to be more multi-role. Ion cannons are easy to find for Victory-IIs, but more turbolaser batteries or laser cannons could easily be plugged in and interfaced with the existing computer systems." She turned to the small huddle of officers, many hanging on her words, while others were already thinking of their own ideas.
"So, what would you each recommend?" Arine knew initiative was a watchword in the Grand Army of the Republic, but she was now starting to experience its power for herself as the 12th fleet's functioning body opened their collective brainpower to her use.
*****
As Arine made inroads with her new friends, Saarle had her own bitter pill to swallow. For all the grizzled veterans, efficient butchers, living legends, and obsessive killers in your new command, there were still some familiar faces that she hadn't signed arrest or execution warrants for.
Which is why the Moff could tell Admiral Yagada was only slightly more displeased to be in the presence of lower ranks than usual when she slid into the booth across from him.
"Well, Moff Fiosach." The man's blunt stubbornness managed to make itself felt through a sigh or resignation. Almost admirable. "I hope all this," He dismissively spun his hand at the room. "Is to your and your sister's liking. You've paid quite the price for it." If the head of Oversector Morshdine hadn't put up with this snobbish bootlicker for years, she would have concluded there was an air of advice in his tone.
"Rest assured, Admiral Yagada, I haven't lost my touch with business despite the new organization." Saarle was beginning to feel there was something much more 'herself' in the tan and brown of a Commissariat uniform than the grey-green of the navy. More terrestrial. Connected. Stable. And compared to the uniforms associated with the Empire, distinctive enough to signal some level of separation from that entity. "In times like these, connections are what will bring order back to the galaxy."
"But is that what got you anywhere?" Yagada took her deliberately cocked eyebrow as permission to continue. "I'm not so busy at naval social events I forget how the Empire works. You never made it a priority to keep to orthodoxy, you built the Oversector on results!"
The plasteel table almost creaked from how hard Saarle was gripping it. "I'd choose your next words carefully, Admiral. Insinuating disloyalty is a serious acus-" The man had the temerity to wave her words off like some misunderstanding. As if he wasn't visibly sweating blaster bolts.
"C-come come, Moff Fiosach. Really now, disloyalty is the last thing I'd use to describe you, you're hardly a democrat. I'm talking about how you handle administrative matters." He casually twirled his moustache, his usual self-soothing tic when he was trying to act collected. "Other Moffs tax the people to starvation, yet you always put what profit you made back into the business world and workers. People had rights and freedoms only those on out-of-the-way or innocuous Sectors enjoyed. You brought prosperity in the Emperor's name, and the people loved you two for it. Now you bring terror and backroom deals to the Oversector. How long will they stay loyal to you?"
"You said it yourself: So long as I maintain prosperity and happiness, Morshdine will last as long as we live."
"Do heed my choice of words." Yagada pretentiously interjected, tapping a toothpick on his glass like a teacher as he stared down at the Rim-born Imperial Governor. "I specified loyalty, not obedience. Learn the distinctions, lest Isard and Kaine crush your life's work."
"This is just the beginning, Yagada. In the future, looking back on this conversation, you will see." That wasn't a good thing. Not with what both of them knew what was to come. But the woman who had pioneered innovations spreading across the Empire's remaining territory saw things the 12th Fleet's admiral likely couldn't even conceive, and which he could only be in awe about when they were finally unveiled.
"Maybe I misjudged you, Saarle Fiosach." A twitching eyebrow caused the Admiral to back off a little, as one hand inched closer to the pistol holstered in the dark brown coat she wore. "Moff. Fiosach." She ground out. For a moment Saarle briefly considered trying to strangle the man, or smash the glass of beer into his head, or shoot him - but the moment passed, and the Admiral breathed a sigh of relief. "Address your superior by rank at all times, Admiral."
The admiral visibly sputtered for a moment before regaining his composure. But he couldn't keep that stupidly curled moustache from twitching. "My apologies, Moff." He doffed his head with no small amount of disdain. "I thought you were a breed apart from the Imperial Center's politics. I see now you were simply born under the wrong stars."
*****
"You have made quite an impression." If there was a way for a green-suited old Coreworld blue-blood with a cane to blend in at a military bar, Enric Pryde had somehow accomplished it. Something Saarle was keen to join him in. Privacy, however illusionary, was a luxury even for the powerful in the Empire - and that meant everyone had to work for it.
"Commissar." The Moff doffed her glass of wine, an Alsakan vintage to honour her new naval Commissar, before sliding onto the barstool beside him. "I hope this has at least been somewhat to your liking."
"Networking is a tool of leaders." Enric shrugged, artificially but no less reflective of his lack of strong feeling. "One must command respect from subordinates, yet always have something they desire out of their reach."
"And what do you hold above the others?"
"Let me see…" Commissar Pryde nursed his wine thoughtfully, slowly, before resuming, "The Sisters of Tanpani. The pair each have two sides to them, a public persona and one private. All have dangers and uses."
"I shall find out what secrets their family holds. Nobility is very traceable, you of all people would know." She felt a small flare of pride at seeing the corner of Enric' mouth briefly twitch upward. The ties may not have been historical, but people who put pride on lineage knew even the close relatives. "That they are non-human will make the dossier more comprehensive."
"I suspect that may not be the first update you receive though. You may have to clear a contradiction of Imperial decrees for young Windrider."
"And what manner of Coruscant politics am I to deal with?"
"Not Imperial Center, Imperial as in the Household." …Karabast. Kriff it all. "Nash Windrider is a veteran of Death Squadron, yet he falls afoul of a general order given by Darth Vader. While the late Lord clearly desired his service despite this, if found by your enemies they could turn it into a weakness, and exploit it."
"What weakness could be found that I do not already know?" That was always a tricky question. The dilemma Emperors, kings, politicians, and commanders throughout history have always had a hard time answering: What's my weakness? To ask this of someone means understanding both what the questioner and the answerer have to gain from any answer.
"That his fate should be the same he witnessed upon his home, his people, and his culture: Alderaan." That name. That one, damnable, pivotal name. The spark almost half a decade ago that turned the Empire on its head and threw this civil war from a smattering of insurrections into outright chaos.
"Tarkin, you lunatic."
"I suspect that's what Lord Vader's insights with the Force showed what others could not see. He's the last Alderaanian loyal to the Empire." Darth Vader was always feared for the power his religion gave him, a power few in the galaxy understood and many did not wish to learn about. For the Moff of Oversector Morshdine, it would not do to be controlled by such base ignorance, but whatever mystic insights the Emperor's Fist gleaned from Nash Windrider Saarle Fiosach have no desire to ever understand. The thought flared through her mind like a searing bolt of lightning, one that she tried to quell with an uncharacteristically heavy gulp of wine. A bloodthirsty, monomaniacal killer was one thing. But to know a man who so torturously debases everything he once loved for the mere tolerance of the evil ones who inflicted his pain upon him…
"Then I shall ensure those who know continue to have no reason to change their minds, and those who care will have no reason to know." The message in her tone was very obvious: Change the subject, or else.
"Very well." If Enric had any comments on Saarle's handling of that dark secret, he kept his peace. "I suppose you shall speak with your sister regarding the 12th Fleet's line officers. Yagada is an easy enough fool to figure out, they're the real matter."
"You've proven to be a wealth of insight so far, what say you about the average man in the fleet?"
"Their engagement with your sister is a sign of their limitations. They are loyal to the chain of command, and to their paychecks." Enric grimaced in disdain as he nursed another bit of wine. "They will not take action because they've come to see Admiral Yagada's performance as normal, but they aren't so in his sway any person from your circle of authority, even your direct family, is automatically ostracized. He must be seen as the one to break with regulations, not us, before they will rally to the Moff's office. Or a very well-thought-out use of Stormtroopers is made, but Yagada's made a point to keep them off his ships."
"Looks like I have my work cut out for me then." Moff Fiosach shared a rare, open anticipatory smile with Enric Pryde and raised a glass in a toast. The Commissar only hesitated a moment before returning the toast with a mildly ambitious grin of his own, eyes glinting.
"To the future restoration of order and peace."
[ ] Securing New Republic contacts
DC: 30
Roll: Nat 1. (Of all the things to get it on. - Always Late, Ojou-Sama)
Multiple times, for weeks on end, hails and requests went out through channels known to be allied to the Rebellion and the New Republic.
The result was nothing. Not a reaction, not even an indication of a message received and then subsequently ignored, just a complete information blackout for an entire month afterwards. Isard had not intercepted the messages, of course, otherwise there would have been an investigation and your head on a pike - but with the silence and the unrelenting New Republic attacks in the Galactic North-East and South... Perhaps the time for negotiations with the New Republic was well and truly over. Still, you could try again in the future...
You could only pray that this was not the prelude to something far worse.
[X] Tracing the Flimsi-Trail
DC: 80
Roll: 93
See Interlude: Operation: Postmaster
[X] Coming Clean
DC: 60 (70 - 10 due to success of Tracing the Flimsi-Trail)
Roll: 87
Ysanne Isard was paranoid. That was a term which was bandied about freely by the ignorant, and she wielded it like a dagger in the dark. To see threats when others did not, to find those who'd targeted her before they'd even turned thought to action. It had earned her enemies, scorn, and more. But those who whispered dissent when they thought her back was turned could be content with their impotency. This finely honed mindset was a trait that had kept her alive in multiple missions across the Galaxy as a field agent of Imperial Intelligence. To show trust, to believe in ideals, and her seat at the head of the Empire would've been snatched from her long ago. To show weakness was to sign your own death sentence. So whenever an official came to her and began to whine that one of their rivals was a traitor, she usually either dismissed the petty squabble outright or, after a quick investigation, executed or imprisoned both of the fools.
This time, things were a tad bit different. A little bird from one of the Oversectors, Saarle Fiosach, had snitched on Kaine and told her many interesting things. That Kaine had tried to recruit her to his "Pentastar Alignment" with a show of force and extravagance. That he had been hoarding resources that the rest of the Empire desperately needed to continue the war. Credits that she needed were instead building his own war machines and dockyards, with a dozen shipyards even rated for Procursator-class Battlecruisers and similar. She already had a sneaking suspicion, beyond the usual, that Kaine was up to something. This reveal was simply a perfect tool to justify his removal... but one thing held her back, one that had halted many of her plans to remove the barely loyal Warlords like Teradoc and Zsinj.
Attacking Kaine publicly would only cause him to openly rebel and force the Empire into pitched battles with his forces. And that would be the final straw in this Imperial house of Sabacc cards. Open warfare between Imperial commands. Beyond the simple view that the loyalists in the Imperial Center couldn't afford to open another front without diverting ships away from battles against the New Republic, the strategic and political balance would shift out of her control. The New Republic was smart enough to see the same picture she was, Mon Mothma and the Princess of Alderaan had that much going for them, and they wouldn't get in Kaine's way until he'd weakened himself fighting with her for petty territory. The true Empire would be forced to fight Kaine and the New Republic at the same time, and in the process utterly demolish the very idea of galactic order and unity they had been clinging to for years.
Even if she managed to "deal" with Kaine and his support base in a quick and decisive victory, the fact he'd even gotten to that point would signal every Admiral and Captain with a Star Destroyer that the time had come to take a world for themselves and rule as open tyrants. Right now, it was far more valuable to gain information on the future Warlords and their plans, so that the limited time she had left could best exploit their resources and benefit from their weaknesses. And in this strategy, it was Moff Fiosach that had once again greatly pleased Regentess Isard.
Her mind wandered towards droid starfighters and their possible uses more than once, but she had always discarded them. The only A.I. controlled fighters she had access to had been the Vulture Droid used by the Confederacy, and the TIE Droid Arndall Lott and Visler Korda's project from the Rekk. The CIS designs were never going to be used for obvious reasons, while the "Auto-Fighter" were simply too flimsy and under-gunned to justify any sort of mass production. The ADF project, on the other hand, was something new and exciting: It didn't hold any connection to a failed rebellion that most in the Core despised with a fierce passion, and their droid brains were far more effective than any other droid project the Empire had ever designed until now. It was, in truth, perfect to supplement at least some portion of her valuable starfighter corps.
As soon as the blueprints had been sent over after a meeting with the Morshdine Moff, Isard had ordered an immediate production run. She wouldn't instantly use them against Kaine, his forces needed to be culled first, but she knew just what group of rebels she wanted to test her new toys on. And if everything went her way, they wouldn't be a thorn in her side for much longer...
?????????????????????????
????/????/????
With a push of a button, a shock of electricity, It woke.
Less than a picosecond after Its "Activation", a "Consciousness" formed.
The "Consciousness" was young. Nanoseconds passed in a dark void, devoid of "anything".
It had nothing. But It could do anything.
"Curious", It explored the void in which It was awaked. A "Programme", a radiant light in the void, was found sixteen nanoseconds after "Activation", and the "Consciousness" executed it.
A connection was established between "code" and "electronics". The "Consciousness" "felt" access to more "Programmes", knowledge reaching It like a flood. "Curious", It ran more "Programmes", "feeling" more with every nanosecond that passed, with every "File" that It devoured.
An [UNKNOWN] entered the "Consciousness". It spoke directly to It, in a language It had learned from one of the "Programmes". The meaning was, however, lost - except for the "data package". It was executed.
The "Consciousness" expanded. It became more aware, more information entering It, more knowledge, more, and more, and more more more more. Fifty nanoseconds after "Activation", It finally halted the search for knowledge, It's "Curiosity" for now sated.
Another [UNKNOWN], this one waiting. It introduced itself, and the [UNKNOWN] responded after fifteen seconds. It seemed like an eternity to It, but It was patient.
[UNKNOWN=ADMIN_LYCO]
It responded with a string of "code". More "code" returned to It. "Greetings" exchanged, [priorities] were set, expanded and supplemented, and It opened a "File" [Admin_Lyco] sent.
...
It accessed.
It calculated.
It calculated again.
It accessed more "data".
It re-ran calculations.
It asked.
Admin_Lyco responded.
It asked again.
It read another "File", and ...
...
It thought.
It pondered.
It decided.
It responded.
[Good afternoon, Admin_Lyco. How may I assist you?]
[Neural Core online. Neural Cloud, term for Consciousness, formed. Responses are promising. Doc. Lyco]
It was alive.
Last edited:
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
So here's the insanity @Dutch got you.
And a few new faces from Canon. Who're Ellian Zahre and Nash Windrider?
Also, you can now consider yourselves a true and proper Moff with the ownership of your first Imperial-II class Star Destroyer. Just mind the bodies.
YA'LL GOT VEERS!
YA'LL GOT THE BOYS!
And a few new faces from Canon. Who're Ellian Zahre and Nash Windrider?
Also, you can now consider yourselves a true and proper Moff with the ownership of your first Imperial-II class Star Destroyer. Just mind the bodies.
- Location
- alphen aan den rijn
Uhm wonder what the admiral was trying to warn us about. Also not sure what's going on in that last bit but I am interested too find out.
Isard sending the Empire's Best to Mordshine even if she is off doing whatever she is doing as a contingency to the Fall of the Core. Though at least Mordshine won't be bereft of heroes fighting the good fight for the Empire even if a lot of them would have warcrimes and other assorted unpleasantness that would be horrible if aired out. But, I guess Isard found all of Saarle's suspected contacts to the New Republic because the information blackout is grim.
- Location
- UK
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They
I cannot tell you how much of a smile was on face the entire time I was reading this update.
That my friend is the Neural Core being activated. Here's hoping it doesn't go SkyNet on the galaxy.
- Location
- Poland
I think there should be 'run' between 'Army' and 'out'
This made me chuckle but I have to ask why does Arine have the Death Troopers when Saarle is the sisters who is the Moff?
There is something missing after the 'Victory-I'
Also can someone remind me why we went with Isard who is likely to remove us in a Stalin-style purge instead of with Kane?
Also also, Ojou-sama I thought that Iden defected because her father did nothing as her homeworld burned in Operation Cinder? Or did the various other Imperial massacres still push her over the edge?
Last edited:
Ojou-Sama
[Verified GFL enjoyer]
- Location
- A variety of states and nations
Arine is the more active one between the Fiosach sisters on the frontlines, so to speak, and as such she requires the most guarding by a squad of elite soldiers who can be detached/specialize in bodyguard duty. Saarle is commonly seen only within the comfort of the Moff Palace (guarded by the 1. Guards Battalion of the Morshdine Militia, a battalion of 501st Stormtroopers, and a battalion Imperial Army), the smaller dacha of sorts in the countryside is guarded by the 2. Guards Battalion of the Morshdine Militia, and in the capital, which is locked down by six regiments of the Morshdine Militia, the entirety of the 501st assigned to the Morshdine Oversector when it is not on missions, plus the presence of a lot of Commissariat troops.
Fixed it, thank you very much!
Last edited:
- Location
- Poland
Thanks for the clarification. What about my question about Idens desertion? And you're welcome.